A 



FRAGMENT 

ON 

MACKINTOSH: 



STRICTURES ON SOME PASSAGES IN THE DISSERTATION 
BY SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH, PREFIXED TO THE 
ENCYCLOPEDIA BRITANNICA. 



LONDON : 

PRINTED FOR BALDWIN AND CRADOCK, 
PATERNOSTER ROW. 

1835. 



f . BALDWIN, rRIKTER, SEW BRlDGE-BTRZETi iONDON; 




TO THE READER. 



I WROTE remarks on Sir James's Dissertation, 
when copies of it were first distributed to his 
friends ; before it was regularly published, as one 
of the preliminary discourses of the Encyclopaedia 
Britannica ; — induced to do so, by my belief, that 
the confusion into which he had thrown the 
science of Ethics was calculated to do great injury 
to the minds of such young inquirers as might 
resort to his work for instruction ; and my fear 
that the puffing, on the part both of himself and 
his friends, which had so successfully served the 
author through life, and the reputation he thence 
enjoyed, would procure a temporary and unfor- 
tunate celebrity to a deleterious production. 

I had made my remarks in the form of letters 
to the author. And they were written with that 
severity of reprehension which the first feelings 
of indignation against an evil-doer inspire. 

From accidental circumstances the publication 
was delayed, till the death of Sir James. The 
form of letters to himself then appeared incon- 



iv 

gruous. And I also felt reluctant, under the 
feelings which that event inspired, to speak so 
harshly as I had done of a man who could no 
longer appear in his own defence. 

The form of the writing was therefore to be 
changed. The return to the work, after the 
warmth of the original feeling was over, was 
repulsive. Leisure was wanting. The Disserta- 
tion had not excited the public attention, and was 
not likely to do so. There no longer appeared 
a motive for taking any trouble about it. 

After a season, however, leisure for looking at 
what I had written, and a motive for doing so, 
having occurred, I was induced by the perusal 
to believe, that the state of the science of morals, 
and of the public mind in regard to it, pre- 
sented a call for the corrections which I had 
endeavoured to apply to the most hurtful of the 
prevalent misapprehensions, and the exposition 
which I had presented of the more important 
truths. And the publication, in its present form, 
is the result of that persuasion. 

I was drawn to the selection I have made of 
the parts of the Dissertation on which I have 
animadverted (it would have been intolerable to 
go through with the whole), by my opinion of 
their relative importance. Among the subjects 
which Sir James has maltreated, the passages 
I have examined appeared to present to us those 
on which it was most desirable that the public 



V 



mind should be set right ; and they were 
among the passages which furnished the most 
instructive specimens of the vices in Sir James's 
mode of writing, from which it were good that 
future writers should, by dread of punishment, be 
deterred. 

In executing my design, I have been embar- 
rassed between two desires, which I have found 
it very difficult to reconcile ; the desire of being 
perspicuous, and the desire of being short. To 
be perspicuous, it seemed that the exposition 
of all the topics of moral philosophy should 
be introduced. To avoid tediousness, it seemed 
that almost every thing of this kind ought to 
be excluded. My fear now is, that I have done 
too much for brevity ; and that I shall often be 
with difficulty understood, as well by supposing 
a knowledge of principles which I ought to 
have explained, as by abridging my exposure 
of the lip-work we have from Sir James. 1 am 
thus in danger of incurring two reproaches ; that 
of tediousness, from which the nature of my 
subject does not permit me to escape ; and that 
of obscurity, which I may have deserved, by 
endeavouring to make the call on my reader's 
patience as little grievous to him as possible. 

I have placed the subjects in the order in 
which that which precedes is calculated to aid 
in the ready apprehension of that which fol- 
lows. It will therefore be for the convenience of 



vi 



those who may deem the following pages worthy 
of their attention, to carry their perusal regularly 
from beginning to end ; as part of what is neces- 
sary for the elucidation of the subsequent passages 
will often be found to have been anticipated in 
those which precede. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



SECTION I. 

Sir James on a great philosophical error ^^^1 

SECTION II. 

Sir James on Hobbes I9 

SECTION III. 
Sir James on Bishop Butler Qg 

SECTION IV. 
Sir James on Bentham 120 

SECTION V. 

Sir James on " Ethical Theory " 301 



Appendix , , 382 



FRAGMENT 

ON 

MACKINTOSH. 



SECTION I. 

Sir Jmnes on a great Philosophical Error. 

Sir James says, that moral inquiries " relate to 
at least two perfectly distinct subjects. 1. The 
nature of the distinction between right and 
wrong in human conduct ; and, 2. The nature 
of those feelings with which right and wrong are 
contemplated by human beings." * 

Sir James does not go the length of claiming 
this distinction as his own. But he says ex- 
pressly that nobody but himself has understood 
the value of it. 

The first of the two subjects he calls, " the 
nature of the distinction between right and 
wrong." The nature of the distinction between 

* Dissert. Sect. I. 

B 



2 



two things depends (does it not ?) upon the 
nature of the things distinguished. The things 
to be distinguished here are, right, and wrong. 
We must therefore know what right is, and what 
wrong, before we can know what the difference 
between them is. 

He gives us another expression for the same 
thing. He says the investigation of " the nature 
of the distinctio7i between right and wrong in 
human conduct," is the same with " investigation 
into the criterion of morality in action." 

This expression is not more satisfactory than 
the former. The word criterion commonly 
means something by which another thing is tried, 
or tested, and shown to be what it is. Thus 
chemists have a number of tests or criteria by 
which they determine what things are, one to 
test an alkali, another an acid ; and so on. But 
'what thing is it by which we test morality? 
And, above all, because that is the previous 
question, what is morality ? A test, is a test of 
a thing known, not of a thing unknown. When 
a man desires a touchstone, a test, or criterion of 
gold, he knows beforehand what gold is — he only 
knows not whether such a piece of matter be 
gold or not. The test does not show what gold 
is ; so neither does a test of morality show what 
morality is. When we know morality, we shall 
not be much in difficulty about the criterion of it. 

" Morality in action " is Sir James's expression. 



s 



And, as usual with Sir James's expressions, it is 
ambiguous. When we speak of a thing in action, 
we commonly mean a thing acting. A hand in 
action, is a hand acting ; a mind in action, is a 
mind acting. When Sir James speaks of morality 
in action, does he mean morality acting ? I con- 
clude not ; because when I ask myself what mo- 
rality not acting is — I cannot find an answer. 
Morality not acting appears to me to be the 
negation of morality. 

There is another meaning we can suppose ; 
and that is, the morality which is in an action : 
as we say the smell which is in a rose. Did Sir 
James then imagine, that there is morality in 
anything else? Did he mean to speak of the 
morality which is in action, as distinct from a 
morality which is not in action ? When we say 
morality, we name an attribute of action. 

But then we need to be informed what that 
attribute is. Sir James says, the business of the 
moral inquirer is to find out the criterion of it. 
But the criterion of a thing does not tell us what 
it is — it only ascertains whether such or such a 
thing be the thing in question or not. 

The only hypothesis by which I can annex 
anything like a meaning to the words of Sir 
James, is by supposing that he has misapplied 
the word criterion ; that he means by " the cri- 
terion of morality in action," the moral quality of 
the act; that, whatever it be, on account of 

B 2 



4 



which we call it right, moral, good. Sir Jameses 
proposition in this sense is, that the criterion of 
morality is morality. We shall find, as we go on, 
other propositions of Sir James, of the same de- 
scription. 

Well, Sir James says, this quality of actions, 
this something, in or belonging to action, is one 
thing, which deserves our inquiry ; and we fully 
agree with him. 

Another thing, as he says, is, the feelings 
which men have, when this something is per- 
ceived or contemplated by them. We agree with 
him, that this is another thing. But we do not 
agree with him, that inquiry into this thing, 
except as an object of philosophical curiosity, is a 
matter of equal importance. We rather lean to 
the opinion of Adam Smith, that it is a matter of 
very inferior importance. 

We are of opinion also, in direct opposition to 
Sir James, who thinks he has had a master's 
hand, in establishing the duality of these 
things, that it never was mistaken, or could be, 
by any man in his senses. The acts of Nero 
were acts of a man in Italy, who lived nearly 
2,000 years ago ; the feelings with which I 
regard them are the feelings of a man now living 
in England. Who is capable of taking one of 
these things for the other ? 

This confusion in the mind of Sir James was 
wrought, no doubt, by ambiguity of terms. The 



5 



term " moral sentiments " either means the 
compound of feelings, in the breast of the actor, 
from which the action proceeds, being, in truth, 
the very morality of the act; or it means the 
sentiments raised in the breast of him who per- 
ceives or contemplates the act. That is, one and 
the same phrase is a name for each of the two 
things, about the distinguishing of which Sir 
James makes such a noise. 

That Sir James was not foremost in making 
the distinction between acts, and the sentiments 
raised in the breasts of those who see or hear of 
them, is hardly worth mentioning for its own 
sake. It is, however, of importance on account 
of those who need to be put on their guard against 
imposing pretensions. 

In treating of the principles of morals," 
says Adam Smith, " there are two questions to 
be considered. First, wherein does virtue con- 
sist? Or what is the tone of temper and 
tenor of conduct, which constitute the excellent 
and praise-worthy character, the character which 
is the natural object of esteem, honour, and ap- 
probation ? And, secondly, by what power or 
faculty in the mind is it, that this character, 
whatever it be, is recommended to us ? Or in 
other words, how and by what means does it 
come to pass, that the mind prefers one tenor of 
conduct to another, denominates the one right 
and the other wrong ; considers the one as thf; 



6 



object of approbation, honour, and reward ; and 
the other of blame, censure, and punishment ? " 

Had Sir James read this, he could not have 
imagined that he had pointed out the two subjects 
more distinctly ; though there is by no means, 
even in the words of Smith, that philosophical 
precision which the nature of the subject re- 
quired. 

Smith goes on to illustrate his meaning : " We 
examine the first question when we consider 
whether virtue consists in benevolence, as Dr. 
Hutchison imagines ; or in acting suitably to 
the different relations we stand in, as Dr. Clarke 
supposes ; or in the wise and prudent pursuit of 
our own real and solid happiness, as has been the 
opinion of others." 

With this. Smith leaves the illustration of the 
first question, and adds the following illustration 
of the second : " We examine the second question, 
when we consider whether the virtuous character, 
whatever it consists in, be recommended to us by 
self-love, which makes us perceive that this 
character, both in ourselves and others, tends 
most to promote our own private interest ; or by 
reason, which points out to us the difference 
between one character and another, in the same 
manner as it does that between truth and false- 
hood ; or by a peculiar power of perception, 
called a moral sense, which this character gratifies 
and pleases, as the contrary disgusts and displeases 



it ; or, last of all, by some other principle in 
human nature, such as a modification of sympathy 
or the like." 

See also the Preliminary Dissertation to Law's 
translation of King on the Origin of Evil ; first 
paragraph, &c. 

Hutchison begins his Inquiry concerning Moral 
Good and Evil, with these words : " The word 
moral goodness in this treatise, denotes our idea 
of some quality apprehended in action, which 
procures approbation and love toward the actor 
from those who receive no advantage by the 
action." Had not this writer a clear conception 
that the quality of the action was one thing, the 
feelings it called forth in others toward the actor, 
a different thing ? 

Dr. Reid says. Essays on the Active Powers, 
Essay 3, chap. 5 : "I shall first offer some ob- 
servations with regard to the general notion of 
duty, and its contrary, or of right and wrong in 
human conduct ; and then consider how we come 
to judge and determine certain things in human 
conduct to be right, and others to be wrong." 
Here what is right and wrong in human conduct; 
and the sentiments with which we regard right 
and wrong, are pointed out as two subjects of 
inquiry. And in the beginning of the 6th 
chapter, after having discussed the question what 
is right and wrong, he says, " We are next to 



8 



consider how we learn to judge and determine, 
that this is right and that wrong. 

" Some philosophers, with whom I agree, 
ascribe this to an original power or faculty in 
man, which they call the moral sense, moral 
faculty, conscience. Others think, that our 
moral sentiments may be accounted for without 
supposing any original sense or faculty appro- 
priated to that purpose, and go into very different 
systems, to account for them." 

In estimating Sir James, it is good to elucidate 
this point very perfectly. Dugald Stewart says : 
" The questions about which the theory of 
morals is employed are chiefly the two following : 
First, by what principle of our constitution are 
we led to form the notion of moral distinctions, — 
whether by the faculty which perceives the dis- 
tinction between truth and falsehood, in the other 
branches of human knowledge, or by a peculiar 
power of perception (called by some the moral 
sense), which is pleased with one set of qualities 
and displeased with another ? Secondly, what is 
the proper object of moral approbation; or, in 
other words, what is the common quality or 
qualities belonging to all the different modes of 
virtue? Is it benevolence, or a rational self- 
love, or a disposition (resulting from the ascend- 
ant of reason over passion) to act suitably to the 
different relations in which we are placed ? These 



♦ 



9 

two questions seem to exhaust the whole theory 
of morals."— Active and Moral Powers, B. 2, 
ch. 5. Introd. 

Take also Dr. Brown, who saw further than 
D. Stewart and Sir James : " We may speak of 
the fulfilment of duty, virtue, propriety, merit, &c., 
and we may ascribe these variously to the action, 
and to him who performed it ; but whether we 
speak of the action or of the agent, we mean 
nothing more, than that a certain feeling of moral 
approbation has been excited in our mind by the 
contemplation of a certain intentional production, 
in certain circumstances, of a certain amount 
of benefit or injury." — Lecture 27, p. 530. 

What was the state of mind of a man who 
could affirm, that the discrimination of the moral 
quality of acts, and the sentiments with which it 
is regarded, has seldom been made by philosophers? 

This accusation of the philosophers in general. 
Sir James presses home upon two of them, spe- 
cially, and by name. These are, Paley, and Ben- 
tham. He proves that they confound the quality 
of an act with the sentiment in the mind which 
regards it, by the following process : they resolve 
morality into utility, and they reject a moral 
sense ; therefore, says Sir James, they confound 
moral approbation with the object of it. 

Between the premises and the conclusion there 
is no connexion. 

But let us hear Sir James. " Dr. Paley repre- 



10 



sents the principle of a moral sense as being 
opposed to that of utility. Now it is evident that 
this representation is founded on a confusion of 
the two questions which have been above stated." 

Reader ! is this evident to you ? 

But Sir James will tell what makes it evident. 
" That we are endued with a moral sense, or, in 
other words, a faculty which immediately ap- 
proves what is right, and condemns what is 
wrong, is only a statement of the feelings with 
which we contemplate actions. But to affirm 
that right actions are those which conduce to the 
well-being of mankind, is a proposition con- 
cerning the outward effects by which right 
actions themselves may be recognized." The 
meaning of this appears to be, that the affirmation 
of Paley about utility, is an affirmation respecting 
the action ; but the affirmation about the moral 
sense is an affirmation respecting the mind of the 
spectator ; a different thing. Two affirmations, 
however, about two different things, have no 
bearing one upon another ; the truth or false- 
hood of the one implies nothing as to the truth 
or falsehood of the other. When Paley, there- 
fore, supposed an inconsistency between the doc- 
trine of utility, and that of the moral sense, he 
confounded the object of moral approbation with 
the approbation itself. 

There is a small matter here, which Sir James 
has overlooked, though it is that upon which the 



11 



fate of his argumentation depends. He says, the 
affirmation of a moral sense, is an affirmation only 
with respect to the mind of him who is thinking 
of the act. 

There is not one of the theories of morals, of 
which Sir James has a tolerable comprehension. 
The affirmation of a moral sense is an affirmation 
with respect to the act, as well as with respect to 
the mind of the person who thinks of the act. 
And its affirmation with respect to the act, is a 
positive denial of the doctrine of utility. It 
affirms that moral distinctions need a particular 
faculty to discern them. Utility and its elements, 
however, 'need no particular faculty to discern 
them ; the common feelings, and common vmder- 
standing suffice. Paley, therefore, was right in 
considering the affirmation of a moral sense as 
inconsistent with the position that utility is the 
moral quality of actions. 

As the imputation of Sir James on Mr. Ben- 
tham rests on the same process of reasoning, it 
is unnecessary to consider it. Neither he, nor 
Paley, confounded moral approbation with the 
object of it ; and to say that they did so, because 
they said that the theory of utility, and the theory 
of the moral sense, are incompatible theories, is 
only to show that the speaker is ignorant of the 
subject. 

It is useful to exhibit here what Sir James says 
to implicate Leibnitz in this accusation. It occurs 



12 



at the end of the article Cumberland, in Sect. 4, 
and illustrates Sir James's care of accuracy, in 
stating either matter of fact, or matter of opinion. 

" It is little wonder that Cumberland should 
not have disembroiled this ancient and estab- 
lished confusion, since Leibnitz himself, in a 
passage where he reviews the theories of morals 
which had gone before him, has done his utmost 
to perpetuate it. * It is a question,' says he, 
* whether the preservation of human society be 
the first principle of the law of nature. This our 
author denies, in opposition to Grotius, who laid 
down sociability to be so ; to Hobbes, who as- 
cribed that character to mutual fear ; and to 
Cumberland, who held that it was mutual bene- 
volence ; which are all three only different names 
for the safety and welfare of society.' Here the 
great philosopher considered benevolence or fear, 
two feelings of the human mind, to be the first 
principles of the law of nature, in the same sense 
in which the tendency of certain actions to the 
well-being of the community may be so regarded. 
The confusion, however, was then common to 
him with many, as it even now is with most. 
The comprehensive view was his own." — Encyclo. 
Britan. vol. i. p. 324. ed. 7th. 

Scarcely one of all these assertions is correct. 

In the passage referred to, Leibnitz does not 
" review the theories of morals which had gone 
before him" {theories going hefore a man; who 



IS 



but Sir J. would thus have expressed himself?) 
nor had a thought of doing any such thing. 
He is giving a short account, in a familiar letter 
to a friend, of a book which had just appeared — 
De Principio Juris Naturalis, After mentioning 
several other things discussed in the book, he 
says, Quceritur deinde, utrum custodia societatis 
humance sit principium juris. And he adds. Id 
negat vir egregius (the author) contra Grotium 
qui societatem^ Hohbesium qui mutuum metum, 
Cumberlandium et similes qui mutuam henevolen- 
tiam, id est, semper societatem, adhihent. Who 
does not see, that Sir James has mistranslated the 
passage, and as well by the translation as the 
comment, that he knew neither the meaning, nor 
object of it ? First of all, the proposition is not 
the proposition of Leibnitz, but of the author of 
whom he is speaking, who removes this opinion 
of the principium juris, viz., that it was custodia 
humance societatis, in which opinion he considered 
that Grotius, Hobbes, and Cumberland, with 
others, coincided ; in order to establish his own 
opinion, that it is the will of God, jussicm Crea- 
toris. But when this author thought that the 
principium juris was not this custodia, and when 
Grotius, Hobbes, and Cumberland thought that it 
was, there is no necessity that any one of them 
should have confounded the moral quality of 
actions, with the feelings of which those actions 
are the exciting cause ? " Here the great phi- 



14 



losopher considered benevolence or fear, to be the 
first principles of the law of nature." This is 
almost incredible. First, it is not the thought of 
Leibnitz, but Leibnitz's statement of another 
man's thought, which is "here" at all. And 
then, most assuredly, that other man did not 
impute to Grotius and Hobbes, the absurdity of 
considering benevolence or fear to be the first 
principles of the law of nature ; because, for one 
thing, he was not speaking of the law of nature 
at all, but of the principium Juris. 

It is not easy to know what Sir James meant 
either by " principles" or "laws of nature." One 
would suppose the law of nature was the principle 
of every thing else. 

Laws of nature are of two sorts ; laws of 
physical or corporeal nature, and those of mental 
nature ; powers of body being denoted by the one 
term, powers of mind by the other. 

But neither of these sets of powers has any 
first principles ; and certainly nobody would say 
that benevolence and fear are the first principles 
of either. 

Perhaps Sir James meant laws of society, 
agreeable to nature ; namely, those laws which 
men in society impose upon themselves for their 
common advantage. But when Sir James calls 
them laws of nature, what nature does he mean ? 
I conclude the nature of man ; because, in any 
other acceptation, his words are without sense. 



15 



The law of nature must therefore mean the 
laws prescribed by man's nature. But the laws 
prescribed by man's nature are, of course, the laws 
tending to human good, whether they be laws 
actually fixed by any society for its own use, or 
not. The law of nature therefore in this case, 
and the principle of utility, are the same. But 
what can be meant by Sir James, when he talks 
of the principles of this law ! This law is the 
principle of all other law. What can he mean, 
when he says the "great philosopher" {propria 
nomine Leibnitz) considered benevolence or fear 
to be the first principles of this principle ; i. e. the 
first principles of the principle of utility ? 

But whatever Sir James gives us to do in find- 
ing out Jiis meaning, it is very easy to see what 
the author spoken of by Leibnitz designated by 
his principium juris. He meant by its princi- 
pium, that to which it owed its origin, that on 
account of which it was brought into being. — 
That on account of which, according to some, it 
was brought into being, was the guardianship of 
human society. To that society, men were led, 
according to Grotius, by their expectation of good 
from one another ; according to Hobbes, by their 
fear of harm from one another ; but in whatso- 
ever way they were led to it, they did value its 
preservation, and seeing the necessity of law for 
that end, gave existence to law accordingly. And 
these opinions assuredly both Grotius and Hobbes 



16 



might hold, without believing, as Sir James would 
have it, that " benevolence or fear are the first 
principles of the law of nature." Sir James adds ; 
" in the same sense in which the tendency of cer- 
tain actions to the well-being of the community 
may be so regarded." Let us try to find, if we 
can, a meaning for this. The sentence put toge- 
ther stands thus : Leibnitz " considered benevo- 
lence or fear the first principles of the law of 
nature ; in the same sense in which the tendency 
of certain actions to the well-being of the com- 
munity may be so regarded." There are here 
two subjects, and one predicate. The predicate 
is, " regarded as the first principles of the law of 
nature." The first of the two subjects is, " bene- 
volence or fear ;" the second is, " the tendency of 
certain actions to the well-being of the com- 
munity." Of both, Sir James says, it may be 
predicated, that they are the first principles of 
the law of nature. " In the same sense," Sir 
James says. But what is it that must be in the 
same sense? The phrase must of necessity be 
construed either with the subjects, or the predi- 
cate. If with the subjects, the sense will be, that 
benevolence or fear, and the tendency of actions, 
are the same thing; if with the predicate, he 
declares that if the words " first principles of the 
laws of nature," be understood both times in the 
same sense, they may be predicated, according 
to Leibnitz, both of " benevolence or fear," 



17 



and also of " the beneficial tendency of ac- 
tions." 

Sir James did not understand the passage. 
Among the questions discussed by the anonymous 
author, one, says Leibnitz, was, whether the safe- 
guard of society, meaning a care for its safety, 
was the origin of law, or that to which law owed 
its 2^rincipium ? This opinion he denied, says 
Leibnitz, — in opposition to Grotius, who main- 
tained the sociability of men — and to Hobbes, 
who maintained the fears men have of one another. 
The expressions are elliptical. Grotius ascribed 
the origin of human society to the social disposi- 
tions of men, Hobbes to their fears. But whether 
men valued society for their loves or their fears, 
in either case they would seek the preservation of 
that which they valued ; and therefore would 
establish laws. Benevolence, according to Gro- 
tius ; fear, according to Hobbes, was the princi- 
pium societatis liumancB; and the custodia socle- 
talis humancE, i.e. the desire of that custodia, and 
the knowledge of what was required for it, was 
the principiu7n juris, or the cause why it began 
to exist. 

It is strange that Sir James saw in this any 
thing like a confusion of the ideas of a moral 
action, and of the state of mind of him who con- 
templates it. 

Sir James never omits an opportunity which he 
either finds, or can make, of panegyric on a popu- 
lar name. c 



" The confusion," says Sir James, " was com- 
mon to him (Leibnitz) with many, as it even now 
is with most" (what an assertion ! ) " The 
comprehensive view was his own." In the first 
place, there was no confusion, on the part of any 
body. In the next place, there is no view of 
Leibnitz here at all, whether comprehensive or 
contracted ; another man's sentiments, and not his, 
being alone represented. And in the third place, 
where is the comprehension of the view ; when, 
speaking of a controversy on a single point, 
Leibnitz does nothing but mention three names of 
those who maintained one of the sides in the con- 
troversy ? But Sir James knew, that the term, 
" a comprehensive view," was a panegyrical term ; 
he knew also that the name of Leibnitz was a 
name of repute. That was enough for Sir James 
to put the two together. 



19 



SECTION II. 

Sir James on Hohbes. 

HoBBES is a great name in philosophy ; on 
account both of the value of what he taught, and 
the extraordinary impulse which he communicated 
to the spirit of free inquiry in Europe. 

The controversies roused by the daring attack 
of Luther on the established religion had deeply, 
for a considerable time, engaged the minds of men, 
on the great questions relating to the Creator, and 
his revelations to mankind. Philosophy, physical, 
mental, or political, was hardly an object of 
attention. A series of dogmas, handed down by 
authority, were passively received ; and the very 
idea of inquiring into the foundation of them, 
seemed to have passed away from the minds of 
men. E ven the great effort of Bacon, to point 
the views of men to the proper object of physical 
inquiry, and to make them ardent in the pursuit, 
had not yet produced any considerable effects. 
With respect to the mental, and physical sciences, 
they were hardly regarded as objects of inquiry. 
The opinions of Aristotle were taught, as a branch 
of education ; and the possession of them in the 

c 2 



20 



memory was all that even the most instructed 
men imagined they had any occasion to desire. 

In this benumbed and torpid state of the human 
mind, the appearance of such a man as Hobbes, 
who challenged so many received and fundamental 
opinions, and exhibited his own views, with evi- 
dence and brevity, was calculated to produce very 
extraordinary effects. It is hardly, as Sir James 
somewhere acknowledges, too much to say, that 
the character of modern speculation was to a 
great degree determined by the writings of 
Hobbes. 

Works of this importance assuredly required, 
in an historical view of moral philosophy, to be 
very carefully expounded ; — their matter to be 
luminously displayed, its value accurately appre- 
ciated, and the effects produced by its promulga- 
tion profoundly investigated. 

Toward this Sir James has done three things. 

I. He tells us what were the causes of the 
influence obtained by the writings of Hobbes. 

II. He gives us an account of his philosophy. 

III. He makes remarks on the philosophy. 

I. He tells us what were the causes of his in- 
fluence. They were these : — 

1. His genius for system. 

2. His dogmatism. 

3. The goodness of his style. 

These things, says Sir James, account for his 
influence. 



21 



II. He gives 21s an account of Hohhes's phi- 
losopluj. 

1. It is cold. Hobbes shows no feeling but 
arrogance. 

2. Hobbes's moral system was established for 
the sake of his political; and his political was 
this — that the ends of government are best attained 
bv the rule of one man, to whom unlimited obe- 
dience is secured. 

This is Sir James's account of Hobbes's phi- 
losophy. 

III. His remarhs on the philosophy^ meaning 
his objections to it, are the following : — 

1. Hobbes does not distinguish thought from 
feeling. 

2. He makes desires instances of objects deli- 
berately pursued. 

3. He strikes the affections out of human 
nature ; and does not recognize the moral sen- 
timents. 

4. It results from this that personal advantage 
is the only motive. 

5. Acknowledging with all men, the utility of 
morals, and the coincidence of private and public 
good, Hobbes wants moral sensibility ; which leads 
him to the principle of utility, a pernicious error. 

This is all which Sir James has to say to us, on 
the subject of Hobbes's philosophy. 

A man could not give a more signal proof of 
incapacity for the work he had undertaken. There 



22 



is not a single thought of any the smallest value 
in the article ; though a finer scope for the 
reflections of a superior mind is not afforded by 
any name in the annals of philosophy. 

I. The causes which he assigns for the influence 
of the writings of Hobbes, are first presented to 
our notice. 

" He owed his influence," says Sir James, " to 
various causes ; at the head of which may be placed 
that genius for system, which, though it cramps the 
growth of knowledge, perhaps finally atones for 
that mischief, by the zeal and activity which it 
rouses among followers and opponents." 

First of all, we need to understand what Sir 
James means by " the spirit of system;" which 
produces so much evil, but at the same time so 
much good, that Sir James declares he knows not 
which preponderates. 

Sir James gives us something of a clue to his 
meaning ; but unhappily that clue leads to two 
meanings. 

In a note on the words " it cramps the growth 
of knowledge," he gives us a quotation from 
Bacon, whom he cannot pass without a smearing 
from his brush, and absurdly calls him " the 
Master of Wisdom." 

" Another error is the over-early and peremp- 
tory reduction of knowledge into arts and methods, 
from which time it commonly receives small aug- 
mentation. Method, carrying a show of total and 



23 

perfect knowledge, has a tendency to generate ac- 
quiescence ; " {Advancement of Learni7ig,) Upon 
which Sir James is in an ecstacy. And exclaims, 
with a mark of admiration, — "What pregnant 
words ! " 

Every man acquainted with the writings of 
Bacon knows well what he means. It is the syl- 
logistic method, which he is speaking of. This 
had been often considered as an all-sufficient in- 
strument for the discovery of truth. It was 
necessary for Bacon to show that it was not ; 
and that such " arts and methods " if too peremp- 
tory, and made too early, are apt to do harm. 
But this is wholly inapplicable to Hobbes. Sir 
James's talk is perfectly beside the matter. To 
no man that ever wrote could the spirit of 
system, in this sense, be less truly ascribed, than 
to Hobbes. It is evident that Sir James did not 
understand the words which he quoted from " the 
Master of Wisdom." 

There is another expression of Sir James, which 
points to another meaning of his " spirit of sys- 
tem." 

In the sentence next to that I have quoted 
above, he says, " A system which attempts a 
task so hard as that of subjecting vast provinces 
of human knowledge to one or two principles, if 
it presents some striking conformity to super- 
ficial appearances, is sure to delight the framer ; 
and for a time, to subdue and captivate the 



24 



student too entirely for sober reflection and 
rigorous examination." 

Sir James's habit of talking loosely was so 
complete and blinding, that he did not perceive 
when he was, or was not, expressing his own 
opinion. He affirms here, that a system (aiming, 
as he describes it, at the true end of philosophy), 
delights its framer, and subdues his followers, 
only if it is bad. This seems extraordinary, but 
observe how true. He says, that the system de- 
lights and subdues, under one condition ; that is, 
if it presents some striking instances of con- 
formity to superficial appearances. What Sir 
James meant to say may be guessed at. He 
meant to say that the system delights and cap- 
tivates, if it does what he says, though it is so 
imperfect as to do nothing more. He has in 
reality said something nearly the opposite. 

Endeavouring " to subject vast provinces of 
human knowledge to one or two principles," is 
that which Sir James now presents to us, as what 
he means by the spirit of system. The pro- 
pensity to express himself badly is more unre- 
laxing in Sir James than in any other man. He 
begins by making a system the agent. " A 
system," he says, " which attempts subject- 
ing," &c. Sir James forgets that the system is 
the thing made, not the maker. A system is the 
arrangement, by some man or men, of a certain 
number of ideas, in a certain order, for a certain 



S5 



end. A system is a system, as well when its 
ideas are arranged under many, as under few 
heads. 

After the absurdity of making the system a 
«ystem-maker, the complaint against a system, of 
its " subjecting vast provinces of human know- 
ledge to one or two principles," broadly displays 
the absence of all correct ideas in the mind of 
Sir James. 

There are two very important philosophical 
operations to which Sir James may have applied 
his term, ** subjecting vast provinces of human 
knowledge to one or two principles." 

First, the operation of classing ; when the phi- 
losopher endeavours to range the objects of his 
consideration under heads, and as many of them 
as possible under one head ; so that he may 
obtain propositions true of as great a number 
of them as possible. Such propositions are found 
to be of the greatest utility. And the man who 
in this way subjects the largest province of 
human knowledge to the fewest principles, is 
universally esteemed the most successful philo- 
sopher. This is what Plato conceived to be the 
very business of philosophy. This is what 
he called " seeing the one in the many," and 
" the many in the one.'* And he said he 
would follow to the end of the world, the man 
whom he should discover to be a master in that 
art. 



26 



Secondly, the operation of expounding the laws 
of nature. This consists wholly in tracing phe- 
nomena to their general laws, that is, referring as 
many of them as possible to the operation of a 
single cause ; and the more extensive that opera- 
tion — that is to say, the more comprehensive the 
law which the philosopher has discovered ; or, in 
Sir James's language, the larger the province of 
human knowledge which he has subjected to a 
single principle ; the more completely has he 
accomplished his important purpose, and the 
greater the admiration and applause which he 
has earned. 

That in this province Hobbes rendered most 
important service is true ; though Sir James was 
totally ignorant of it. For he represents him as 
a man who was taken in, by *• some striking in- 
stances of conformity to superficial appearances." 

If Sir James says, that it was this superficiality 
of Hobbes which contributed to his reputation, it 
is nonsense. If he says, that it was the power 
with which he traced the phenomena of the 
human mind to their general laws ; he told us 
what we need not thank him for, — that the merit 
of Hobbes was one of the causes of his success. 
What should contribute to a man's success more 
than his merit? It is the natural, and best 
cause of success. 

Sir James's dissertation on Hobbes's spirit of 
system is a sad specimen of a philosopher. 



*. 

27 



The dogmatism of Hobbes, Sir James gives as 
the next among the causes of his fame. 

Two things Sir James has mistaken here. In 
the first place, there is no peculiar dogmatism in 
Hobbes. And in the next place, dogmatism in a 
writer never was a cause of fame. In a speaker, 
or a talker, an air of assurance often gains an 
opinion of knowledge. Not so, in the written 
page, which a reader has before him for cool con- 
sideration. There, an appearance of demanding 
our submission, without cause, inspires disgust, 
and often obscures substantial merit. 

It is reported of Hobbes, that, in conversation, 
he was impatient of contradiction ; which in a 
man of deep internal thought, unless he is also 
much practised in conversation, that is, in hearing 
and replying to the undigested thoughts of others, 
is a very natural infirmity, not easy to be avoided. 
From this Sir James has been pleased to infer, 
that Hobbes is dogmatical in his writings. Sir 
James evidently was unacquainted with these 
writings ; and spoke of them, as of most other 
writings, at second hand. There is nothing 
of dogmatism in the writings of Hobbes. But 
the mind of Hobbes was a mind of perfect sim- 
plicity and truth. What was his thought, he set 
down as his thought, directly and clearly, with- 
out the mumblings of Sir James, who hardly 
writes a sentence which he does not preface with 
a perhaps." Hobbes in every instance knew his 



28 



own thought with accuracy, and gave it for what 
it was. Sir James the contrary ; and therefore 
he generally hesitates about pronouncing it. This 
he no doubt flattered himself was graceful modesty. 
The fact, however, is, that Hobbes is a very un- 
pretending writer ; and Sir James one of the most 
offensively pretending that ever put pen to paper. 

Hobbes begins his Treatise of Human Nature, 
in these words : — " The true and perspicuous ex- 
plication of the elements of laws natural, and 
politic (which is my present scope), dependeth 
upon the knowledge of what is human nature, 
what is body politic, and what it is we call a 
law ; concerning which points, as the writings of 
men from antiquity downwards have still in- 
creased, so also have the doubts and controversies 
concerning the same. And seeing that true 
knowledge begetteth not doubt nor controversy, 
it is manifest from the present controversies, that 
they which have written heretofore thereof, have 
not well understood their own subject. 

" Harm I can do none, though I err no less 
than they ; for I shall leave men but as they are, 
in doubt and dispute. But, intending not to 
take any principle upon trust ; but only to put 
men in mind of what they know already, or may 
know by their own experience, I hope to err the 
less. And when I do, it must proceed from too 
hasty concluding, which I will endeavour, as 
much as I can, to avoid." 



^9 



This is real modesty ; modesty without affec- 
tation ; which he never discredits in a single page 
of his book. 

There is a passage in the introduction to the 
Leviathan, so much in the same spirit, and so 
pregnant with various instruction, that I think it 
will be agreeable to the reader to have it before 
him. 

" There is a saying much usurped of late, 
that Wisdome is acquired, not by reading of 
JBoolcs, but Men. Consequently whereunto, those 
persons, that for the most part can give no other 
proof of being wise, take great delight to show 
what they think they have read in men, by un- 
charitable censures of one another behind their 
backs. But there is another saying not of late 
understood, by which they might learn truly to 
read one another, if they would take the pains ; 
and that is, N^osce teipsum, JRead thyself: which 
was not meant, as it is now used, to countenance, 
either the barbarous state of men in power, 
towards their inferiors ; or to encourage men of 
low degree, to a sawcie behaviour towards their 
betters ; but to teach us, that for the similitude 
of the thoughts, and passions of one man, to the 
thoughts, and passions of another, whosoever 
looketh into himself, and considereth what he 
doth, when he does thinJf, opine, reason, Jiope, 
feare, 8zq., and upon what grounds ; he shall 
thereby read and know what are the thoughts. 



30 



and passions of all other men, upon the like 
occasions. I say the similitude oi passions, which 
are the same in all men, desire^ feare, hope, &c., 
not the similitude of the objects of the passions, 
which are the things desired, feared, hoped, 8icc. : 
for these the constitution individuall, and par- 
ticular education do so vary, and they are so 
easie to be kept from our knowledge, that the 
characters of man's heart, blotted and confounded 
as they are, with dissembling, lying, counterfeit- 
ing, and erroneous doctrines, are legible onely to 
him that searcheth hearts. And though by 
men s actions wee do discover their designe some- 
times ; yet to do it without comparing them with 
our own, and distinguishing all circumstances, 
by which the case may come to be altered, is to 
decypher without a key, and be for the most part 
deceived, by too much trust, or by too much diffi- 
dence ; as he that reads, is himself a good or evill 
man. 

" But let one man read another by his actions 
never so perfectly, it serves him onely with his 
acquaintance, which are but few. He that is to 
govern a whole nation, must read in himself, not 
this, or that particular man ; but man-kind : 
which though it be hard to do, harder than to 
learn any language, or science ; yet, when I 
shall have set down my own reading orderly, 
and perspicuously, the pains left another, will be 
onely to consider, if he also find not the same in 



31 



himself. For this kind of doctrine admitteth no 
other demonstration." 

It is not easy to find the genuine spirit of 
philosophical inquiry, which is the reverse of 
dogmatism, more truly expressed than in these 
words. And no man acquainted with the 
writings of Hobbes will affirm that they are not 
throughout in character with what is here pro- 
fessed. 

Sir James's descant on the subject of Hobbes's 
dogmatism, is instructive. To attempt any great 
improvement in the region of thought, " com- 
monly requires," says Sir James, " an over- 
weening conceit of the superiority of a man's 
own judgment." This is a reproach cast upon 
the pursuit of knowledge. It was in a very 
different spirit that Bacon and Locke urged on 
the human mind, to break the shackles of autho- 
rity, and to trust to its native strength. This is 
in the taste of Oxford and Cambridge ; who 
dread inquiry, and do all that in them lies, to 
crush the spirit of it. A man, like Sir James, 
who never knew the ground of an opinion in his 
life, and never held one but upon trust, may well 
think it arrogant to espouse, as Sir James ex-^ 
presses it, " very singular notions ; " that is, to 
differ from the common herd. But the man who 
looks at opinions through the reasons of them ; 
when he arrives at a truth which he sees to be 
founded on evidence, and publishes because he 



82 



believes it important; is not for that reason 
arrogant ; he is only public spirited and brave. 
An attack upon such a spirit, of which, unfor- 
tunately for mankind, the specimens are yet but 
few, is as low in the intellectual point of view, as 
it is in the moral. 

Sir James goes on ; " The dogmatism of 
Hobbes has indeed one quality more offensive 
than that of most others. Propositions the most 
adverse to the opinions of mankind, and the most 
abhorrent from their feelings, are introduced into 
the course of his argument with mathematical 
coldness. He presents them as demonstrated 
conclusions, without deigning to explain to his 
fellow creatures how they all happened to be- 
lieve the opposite absurdities." 

Sir James was utterly incapable of conceiving 
the state of mind of such a man as Hobbes. 
Hobbes had no other object than to set down 
distinctly the thoughts which had been suggested 
to him by his study of human nature, with as 
much of the evidence of each as was compatible 
with the great compression of his plan ; " to set 
down," as he himself expresses it, " his own 
reading of human nature, orderly and per- 
spicuously ; " after which he considered that his 
task was done : " For this kind of doctrine," 
says he, " admitteth no other demonstration." 

The very perfection of the philosophical style, 
the utmost degree of simplicity, compactness, and 



33 



perspicuity, combined, the purest transcript of 
thought, which words seem capable of being 
rendered, is stigmatised by Sir James, as " cold ;" 
a word of great reproach with Sir James. And 
the spmt of simplicity and sincerity, with which 
a great mind delivers its thoughts to others in 
the very shape in which it holds them, without 
the affectation of a thousand apologies for the 
impudence of differing a hair's-breadth from those 
who had never thought upon the subject, is 
charged upon Hobbes, as the arrogance of one 
who despises mankind. It is clear and con- 
clusive evidence of the contrary. 

It is worth while to remark, in connection 
with Sir James on Dogmatism," what Hobbes 
says of it. " There be two sorts of men that 
commonly be called learned. One is that sort 
that proceedeth evidently from humble prin- 
ciples, as is described in the last section, and 
these men are called MatJiematici. The other are 
they that take up maxims, from their education, 
and from the authority of men, or of custom ; 
and take the habitual discourse of the tongue for 
ratiocination : and these are called T>ogmatici. 
Now seeing those we call Mathematici are ab- 
solved of the crime of breeding controversy ; and 
they that pretend not to learning cannot be 
accused ; the fault lieth altogether in the Dog-' 
matici, that is to say, those that are imperfectly 
earned, and with passion press to have their 

D 



34 



opinions pass every where for truth, without any 
evident demonstration, either from experience, or 
from places of Scripture of uncontradicted inter- 
pretation." — Human Nature, ch. 13. 

So much for two out of the three causes of the 
success of Hobbes. Sir James tells us that his 
style was the third. And then he pronounces a 
panegyric upon his style which it well de- 
serves. 

But the style of Hobbes, though admirable for 
its purpose, was the very reverse of a popular 
style. It has a charm for the man who is looking 
out for thoughts ; because it gives them to him 
at once, and effectually ; but it is repulsive to the 
common-place reader ; and can have done nothing 
towards gaining admirers from the throng. No ; 
if there had not been other causes of the success 
of Hobbes, his manner as a writer would have 
confined his works to the closets of the few. 

II. We next receive the account of Hobbes 's 
philosophy. 

This ought to be sufficient, at the least, to 
remind us accurately of the doctrines maintained, 
by Hobbes ; the grounds on which he maintained 
them ; the mode in which he connected them 
together, so as to compose a whole ; and the 
point of view in which the subject must have 
been presented to him, in order to draw his 
thoughts into that peculiar train which his 
writings present to us. 



The first thing which Sir James tells us under 
this head is, " That his philosophical writings 
might be read without reminding any one that 
the author was more than an intellectual machine. 
They never betray a feeling except that insup- 
portable arrogance, which looks down on men as 
a lower species of beings." Such a feeling as 
this, most certainly they do not betray. So that 
Sir James's negation of feeling may be stript of 
his solitary exception. 

This, however, is at best only a criticism upon 
the manner in which Hobbes delivered his philo- 
sophy. To the matter of it, with which alone he 
had here to do, it is altogether foreign. 

But whether is it said, in praise, or in blame? 
That Sir James's words determine not. If said 
in praise, it is very high praise. It says that, in 
treating of intellectual objects, Hobbes dealt with 
them according to their nature, and did not pol- 
lute them by any heterogeneous admixture. 

We know, however, by experience, that when 
Sir James talks of want of feeling, he talks of it 
as a great blemish. He cannot bear that intel- 
lectual things should be spoken of in the language 
of intellect. A clear expression of a clear idea is 
poor, with him, unless it be ranted aboui. Hobbes 
is blamed, because, in dealing with matters of 
pure intellect, he uses the language which is best 
adapted to convey them pure into the minds of 
others. Sir James did not understand a pure 

D 2 



S6 

conception of the intellect, nor the use of it ; he 
wanted it always adulterated. 

Yet his praise of Hobbes's style is not consis- 
tent with this talk. He says, " It seems " (Sir 
James is seldom sure about any thing) " it seems 
the very perfection of didactic language." If so^ 
the very perfection of didactic language is to be 
unmixed with the language of feeling. Sir James's 
inconsistency, however, is so constantly occur- 
ring, that to remark a particular instance of it is 
of small importance. Sir James says again, 
" Perhaps " (he is never certain) " no writer of any 
age or nation, on subjects so abstruse, has mani- 
fested an equal power of engraving his thoughts 
on the minds of his readers." This is a happy 
expression. The minds therefore of Hobbes's 
readers, did not lose much, by not being " reminded 
that he was more than an intellectual machine." 
Sir James is at prodigious pains to assure his 
readers, that he is not a mere intellectual machine. 
He only fails in showing that intellectual can be 
very safely predicated of his machine. 

This is the first part of the account which Sir 
James gives of the philosophy of Hobbes. 

The remaining part is contained in this pro- 
position. That Hobbes's moral system was pro- 
pounded for the sake of his political. 

Sir James announces this in the following 
manner. " It was with perfect truth observed 
by my excellent friend, Mr. Stewart " (N. B. what 



ST 

had we to do with the intrusion of the ' excellent 
friend ?') " that the ethical principles of Hobbes 
are completely interwoven with his political sys- 
tem. He might have said," continues Sir James, 
** that the whole of Hobbes's system, moral, reli- 
gious, and in part philosophical, depended on his 
political scheme ; not indeed logically, as conclu- 
sions depend on premises, but (if the word may 
be excused) 'psychologically, as the formation of 
one opinion may be influenced by a disposition 
to adapt it to previously cherished opinions." 

What is real in the case is stated by Hobbes 
himself, in his own simple and true language, in 
the opening of what he calls the " Explication of 
the Elements of Law, Natural, and Political." 
He says, " the true and perspicuous explication of 
the elements of law, natural, and political, which 
is my present scope, dependeth upon the know- 
ledge of what is human nature." Going, as he 
was, to expound the elements of political govern- 
ment, he saw, and he v/as the first to see clearly, 
that the elements of political government were the 
principles of human nature. It was necessary for 
him, therefore, to begin with the explication of 
human nature. And he no doubt is at pains to 
show, when he comes to his political doctrines, 
that they are correctly deduced from the prin- 
ciples of human nature. But Sir James goes 
beyond this. He says that Hobbes's moral opi- 
nions are twisted into deformity to make them 



SB 



accord with his political system. This means, 
that it was necessary for Hobbes to trace to 
selfish feelings the moral acts of men, in order 
to recommend his political doctrine ; viz. that 
government should possess unlimited power. 

This, in the first place, is naked, and (if the 
word may be excused, as Sir James would say) 
foolish, assumption. Sir James knew, or might 
have known, two things — what Hobbes said of 
human nature — and what he said of government ; 
but which came first, in the mind of Hobbes, he 
did not know. The political opinions might have 
been derived from the moral, as well as the moral 
from the political. Observe, that this assumption 
is not prefaced with "perhaps." Sir James is most 
doubtful, where there is best ground of assurance. 
His assertion is not only gratuitous, but evidently 
false. There is no peculiar fitness, in what is 
called the selfish system of morals, to form the 
ground-work of the despotic system of govern- 
ment. The sentimental system of morals, which 
Sir James professes, is far better adapted to that 
end, and far more frequently worked with a view 
to its accomplishment. 

I perceive that it will not easily be believed, 
though I am now obliged to aver it, that this is 
all which Sir James has to give us, as the account 
of Hobbes*s philosophy ; for as to the rant with 
which he terminates the concluding paragraph, 
about enslaving religion to human tyrants, it is 



39 



nothing to the purpose, and is not worth atten- 
tion. 

III. I now come to Sir James's remarks upon 
Hobbes's moral philosophy. 

These should have told us, as well what was 
good, as what was not good, in this part of 
Hobbes's speculations. Sir James should have 
informed us what light Hobbes threw upon the 
subject of human nature ; for true it is, he threw 
a great deal, though Sir James appears not to 
have be^n aware of it. The philosophy of human 
nature was in a deplorable state, when he first 
approached it. What he actually expounded, and 
the openings he made for farther exposition, was 
a subject of great curiosity, and great importance. 
Unhappily, Sir James knew nothing, either about 
the subject, or its importance ; and therefore 
leaves it out altogether, as if he had nothing to 
do with it. His remarks on Hobbes consist of a 
string of objections. The reader shall now see 
what they are. 

1. Hohhes does not distinguish thought from 
feeling. This is wholly untrue. Hobbes, in the 
first chapter of his Treatise of Human Nature, 
says, " Of the powers of the mind there be two 
sorts, Cognitive and Motive." Under the first he 
ranges all that is commonly called Thought; under 
the second all that is called Feeling. Of the first 
sort he treats, in the first six chapters ; and of the 
second sort, in the next four. Is it possible that 



40 



the man who says Hobbes confounds the powers 
cognitive, and motive, of the human mind, can 
have read these chapters? 

Sir James grounds what he says upon a short 
hint by Hobbes of his opinion as to the physical 
causes of mental phenomena. Though that opi- 
nion is absurd enough, and (according to Hobbes's 
own judgment, when he declared that it was not 
necessary to the business now in hand) had better 
have been omitted, it was yet naturally suggested 
by the received philosophy of the time, and affords 
no countenance to the absurd assertion which Sir 
James founds upon it. 

All action, in the time of Hobbes, was consi- 
dered motion, and all passion, passio, the effect 
produced by action, motion too ; since motion can 
produce nothing but motion. But the two species 
of motion, the actio^ and the passio, were looked 
upon as very different things to the sense and 
conception of the man. 

Hobbes, in consonance with this doctrine, says,* 

To know the natural cause of sense is not very 
necessary to the business now in hand. Never- 
theless, to fill each part of my present method, I 
will briefly deliver the same in this place. — The 
cause of sense is the external body or object, which 
presseth the organ proper to each sense, either 
immediately, or mediately ; which pressure, by 



* Leviathan, part i. ch. i. 



41 



the mediation of nerves, and other strings and 
membranes of the body, continued inwards to the 
brain, is that which men call sense ; and con- 
sisteth, as to the eye, in a light, or colour figured ; 
to the ear in a sound, &c. ; all which qualities, 
called sensible, are, in the object that causeth 
them, but so many several motions of the matter 
by which it presseth our organs diversely. Neither 
in us that are pressed, are tliey any thing else, 
but divers motions ; for motion produceth nothing 
but motion." 

So much for sensation. Now for ideas.* " When 
a body is once in motion, it moveth (unless some- 
thing else hinder it) eternally ; and whatsoever 
hindereth it cannot, in an instant, but in time, 
and by degrees, quite extinguish it. And, as we 
see in the water, though the wind cease, the waves 
give not over rolling for a long time after ; so 
also it happeneth in that motion which is made in 
the internal parts of a man, then when he sees, 
hears, &c. — for after the object is removed, or 
the eye shut, we still retain an image of the thing 
seen, though more obscure than when we see it» 
And this is it the Latins call Imagination, from 
the image made in seeing ; and apply the same, 
though improperly, to all the other senses. But 
the Greeks call it Fancy (phantasia), which signi- 
fies appearance, and is as proper to one sense as 



* Leviathan, part i. ch. ii. 



42 



another." Imagination, Fancy, are, therefore, in 
Hobbes, names which stand for our modern term, 
Idea. 

Having made this attempt to account physi- 
cally for sensation, and idea,''^ he treats afterwards 
of the train of ideas, which Hume has taught us 
to call their association; of naming, or the use of 
signs ; and shews wherein memory, understanding, 
reason, science, consist. 

Having thus done with what he calls the 
powers cognitive of the human mind, he comes in 
Chapter vi. to what he calls the powers motive ; 
and heads the chapter with these words : — " Of 
the interior beginnings of voluntary motions ; 
commonly called the passions; and the speeches 
hy ivhich they are expressed and I shall recount 
a few of the numerous particulars whereof he 
gives his explication : Desire, Aversion, Love, 
Hate, Good, Evil ; Pulchrum, Turpe ; Pleasure, 
Offence ; Pleasures of sense. Pleasures of the 
mind ; Joy, Grief ; Hope, Despair, &c. 

How far Hobbes's account of thought and feel- 
ing is just and sufficient — is another question, which 
Sir James ought to have elucidated, and has not ; 
but never surely was an author less liable to cen- 
sure for having confounded the two, than he who 
made the distinction between them the foundation 
of the twofold division of the properties of the 

* Leviathan, part i. ch. ii. to vi. 



43 



human mind ; and treats of them as belonging to 
two grand heads of inquiry. 

When one meets with an assertion like this, in 
an author who has some reputation, one's thoughts 
begin to wander ; one stares, and asks, where one 
is ? It looks as if one were in a dream. 

It is worth remarking, in reference to Sir 
James's ignorance of what he was talking about, 
that Hobbes carefully points out a distinction, 
which he thinks is found between the physical 
causes of Thought and those of Feeling, or, as he 
would call them, the cognitive and motive phe- 
nomena of the human mind ; and accounts for the 
difference between them. He was obliged by his 
theory to refer them both to motion. But the 
motion cognitive was motion in the head, consti- 
tuting phantasia, in the mind. The motion 
motive was motion carried on from the head to 
the heart, constituting pleasure or pain. " This 
motion," he said, " is also a solicitation or provo- 
cation either ' to draw near to the thing that 
pleaseth, or to retire from the thing that dis- 
pleaseth ; and this solicitation is the endeavour or 
internal beginning of animal motion, which when 
the object delighteth is called appetite, when it 
displeaseth, it is called aversion in respect of the 
displeasure present, but in respect of the displea- 
sure expected, fear. So that pleasure, love, and 



* Human Mature, ch. vii. 



4# 

appetite, which is also called desire, are divers 
names for divers considerations of the same thing." 

2!. Sir James's second objection is delivered in 
the following words: — " By this great error''' (viz* 
confounding thought and feeling, which we have 
seen that Hobbes clearly distinguished) " Hohhes 
was led to represent all the variety of the desires 
of men, as being only so many instances of 
objects deliberately and solely pursued.'' As is 
usual with Sir James's words, they put us on the 
hunt for a meaning. They, at first sight, look like 
an enigma. " Hobbes considered each desire of 
a man as being an object of pursuit." This is Sir 
James's assertion. But it is not sense. How can 
a man pursue a desire ? Hunger is not an object 
of pursuit. An object of desire is an object of 
pursuit, because they are but two names for the 
same thing. 

Sir James gives us his reason for his assertion. 
The desires of men were represented by Hobbes 
as objects pursued, " because they" (the desires) 
" were the means, and at the same time perceived 
to be so, of directly or indirectly procuring organic 
gratification to the individual." But this is as 
far from sense as the former assertion. A desire 
the means of an organic gratification ! The desire 
of the gratification is the desire ; the means of 
gratifying the desire is not surely the desire itself ; 
though it would not be unlike many of Sir James's 
conclusions to say so. 



45 



By desires, in both members of his sentence^ 
Sir James meant surely, objects of desire ; though 
from his habit of abusing language he did not 
perceive the absurdity of the expression he used. 

Now then we are to see what sense there is in 
his observation, upon this supposition. " Hobbes 
did wrong in representing the objects of desire as 
objects pursued." This however cannot be said ; 
because objects of desire, and objects of pursuit, 
are but two names for the same thing. Sir James 
puts in the words " deliberately and solely." Are 
we then to suppose that his objection lies in the 
force of these two words? And that Hobbes 
errs, in considering the objects of desire as objects 
deliberately and solely pursued. 

First of all, we may ask Sir James, if there is 
any thing deliberately and solely pursued ? For 
if there be, it is by necessity an object of desire. 
That men do often desire things, not deliberately 
and not solely, is a matter of fact of which nobody 
is ignorant, and which most assuredly Hobbes 
never uttered a syllable tending to deny. We 
have therefore not yet got at any thing which 
looks like a meaning. 

Sir James goes on—" The human passions are 
described as if they reasoned accurately, delibe- 
rated coolly, and calculated exactly." Did ever 
any body use language like this before ? A pas- 
sion reasoning ! Why Hobbes considered passion, 
and reason, to be so different one from the other. 



46 



that they belonged to two separate heads of 
inquiry. Hobbes certainly did not consider it 
impossible, that a man should reason, and be under 
passion at the same time ; or impossible, that he 
should be carried away by his passion, in spite of 
his reason. 

Sir James goes on again — " It is assumed, that 
in performing these operations " (namely, the ope- 
rations of a passion reasoning accurately, of a 
passion deliberating coolly, and of a passion cal- 
culating exactly,) " there is and can be no act of 
life in which a man does not bring distinctly 
before his eyes the pleasure which is to accrue 
to himself from the act." Here, at last, we have 
a glimpse of what he would be at. After having 
waded through all this jargon, we come to the 
assertion, that the error of Hobbes consisted in his 
endeavouring to trace the motive phenomena of 
human nature, more frequently called the active 
principles of human nature, to pain and pleasure. 
Why, if that was what he meant to say, did he 
not say so at the beginning ? The final cause is 
plain. Sir James, in that case, would not have 
appeared profound. To tell us this of Hobbes's 
philosophy, was to tell us what nobody needed to 
be told. Whether he did wrong in doing so, is 
the very question to be resolved. Toward that 
solution. Sir James did absolutely nothing; but 
after repeating a parcel of words which heve 
about as much meaning in them as the cawing of 



47 



rooks, he decides, upon his own authority, that 
Hobbes is in the wrong, and he is in the right. 
Such is Dandy philosophy. 

The decision is followed up by another parcel 
of words, casting abuse upon Hobbes's endeavour, 
but doing nothing which has a tendency to show 
the unreasonableness of it. He indeed informs 
us, that Hobbes would not have done as he did, 
had he known, what few philosophers, he says, 
have known, " that our desires seek a great diver- 
sity of objects." Indeed ! is it so seldom known 
that a man desires a great many things ? also, had 
he known, "that the attainment of these objects'' 
(the objects of desire) " is indeed followed by or 
rather called pleasure." Wonderful again ! Was 
Hobbes really ignorant, that the attainment of an 
object of desire is pleasurable ? Sir James pro- 
ceeds, " but that it could not be so, if the objects 
had not been previously desired.** That is to 
say, the gratification of a desire would not have 
been the gratification of a desire, unless the desire 
had previously existed. Blessed instruction ! And 
blessings on the heads of those, who reared up 
a reputation for such an instructor ! But let the 
instruction be what it may, how does it show 
that the active principles of human nature may 
not be traced up to pain and pleasure ? As little 
does it contribute to that object, to descend, like 
Sir James, to the lowness of caricaturing a doc- 
trine, which he cannot refute. This he does, by 



48 

taking out a few of the decisions of Hobbes with 
respect to particular cases, stated nakedly, without 
the analysis which leads to them. The evidence 
of these decisions lies in the tenor of the whole 
discourse. To pick them out singly, and hold 
them up for observation, is a trick to make them 
be misunderstood. It is also but fair to Hobbes 
to remember, that, though he was the first to 
descry the instrument of analysis, he made but 
little progress in the use of it, and rather divined 
the results, than traced them. It is no wonder, 
therefore, if, sometimes, the words in which he 
couches those results, carry the minds of those, 
who read them without the context, to a meaning 
not only not necessary to the general purport of 
the discourse, but actually at variance with it. 
Sir James does his endeavour to make this misap- 
prehension general. 

3. Sir James's third remark is, that " Hohhes 
having struck the affections out of his map of 
human nature, it is no wonder, that we should 
not find in it a trace of the moral sentiments^ 
We have seen already, that the assertion about 
striking out the affections is utterly untrue. Every 
body knows, that the assertion about the moral 
sentiments is untrue ; because every body knows 
that Hobbes's political system is founded upon 
the indefeasible obligation of covenants. If 
there is a moral obligation, there are surely 
moral sentiments. Hobbes, moreover, very dis- 



49 



tinctly explains his opinion of what are called the 
moral sentiments. Hobbes treats of moral obliga- 
tions, as being dictates of the " law of nature." 
And in his second chapter, De Corpore Politico^ 
he says, " What it is we call the law of nature is 
not agreed upon by those that have hitherto 
written. For the most part, such writers as have 
occasion to affirm, that anything is against the 
law of nature, do allege no more than this, that 
it is against the consent of all nations, or the 
wisest and most civil nations. But it is not 
agreed upon, who shall judge which nations are 
the wisest. Others make that against the law of 
nature which is contrary to the consent of all 
mankind ; which definition cannot be allowed, be- 
cause then no man could offend against the law of 
nature ; for the nature of every man is contained 
under the nature of mankind. But forasmuch as 
all men are carried away by the violence of their 
passion ; and by evil customs do those things which 
are commonly said to be against the law of nature; 
it is not the consent of passions, or consent in some 
error gotten by custom, that makes the law of na- 
ture. Reason is no less of the nature of man, than 
passion. And is the same in all men ; because all 
men agree in the will to be directed and governed 
in the way to that which they desire to attain ; 
namely, their own good, which is the work of 
reason. There can, therefore, be no other law of 
nature than reason ; nor no other precepts of 

E 



50 



natural law, than those which declare unto us the 
ways of peace, where the same may be obtained^ 
and of defence where it may not." Here is a dis- 
tinct answer to the two questions which Sir Jame& 
informs us comprehend the whole of moral science ; 
namely, First, what is that we call moral in 
actions ? Secondly, by what principle in human 
nature, is the distinction between what is moral, 
and immoral, in actions, made ? Hobbes says, it 
is the useful in actions which constitutes their 
morality ; and it is reason by which the morality 
is ascertained and appreciated. And yet Sir 
James has the infatuation to tell us, that there is 
not a trace of the moral sentiments in the system 
of Hobbes. 

This is more than mere heedlessness, or disre- 
gard of what is true or false, in representing the 
opinions of others. This is to insinuate that 
Hobbes^s system is an immoral system. But this 
is detraction ; which under the perpetual smirk of 
universal benevolenccj Sir James is ever watchful 
to find room for, when he has to do with any 
unpopular name ; the reverse, in the case of those 
names which are popular ; they seldom escape a 
daubing of unmerited praise. 

The rant which follows, and which is merely 
the vulgar abuse of that philosophy which traces 
up moral good to private feeling, without a syl- 
lable to shew that it is erroneous, is unworthy of 
notice. 



51 



4. In Sir James's fourth remark he includes 
two objectionso The first is, that Hobbes '^per- 
petually represents the deliberate regard to per- 
sonal advantage, as the only possible motive of 
human action."" The second is, " that he does not 
allow the pleasures of benevolence and morality, 
themselves, to be a part of that interest which rea- 
sonable beings pursue'' 

Both imputations are unfounded. 

Sir James must mean, if he means any thing, 
that to trace up the motive affections of human 
nature to pain and pleasure, is to make personal 
advantage the only motive. This is to affirm, 
that he who analyses any of the complicated 
phenomena of human nature, and points out the 
circumstances of their formation, puts an end to 
them. 

Sir James was totally ignorant of this part of 
human nature. Gratitude remains gratitude, 
resentment remains resentment, generosity, gene- 
rosity, in the mind of him who feels th,em, after 
analysis, the same as before. The man who can 
trace them to their elements does not cease to feel 
them, as much as the man who never thought 
about the matter. And whatever effects they 
produce, as motives, in the mind of the man who 
never thought about the matter, they produce 
equally, in the minds of those who have analysed 
them the most minutely. 

They are constituent parts of human nature. 

E 2 



52 



How we are actuated, when we feel them, is 
matter of experience, which every one knows 
within himself. Their action is what it is, 
whether they are simple or compound. Does a 
complex motive cease to be a motive whenever it 
is discovered to be complex? The analysis of 
the active principles leaves the nature of them 
untouched. To be able to assert, that a philo- 
sopher, who finds some of the active principles of 
human nature to be compound and traces them 
to their origin, does on that account exclude them 
from human nature, and deny their efficiency as 
constituent parts of that nature, discovers a total 
incapacity of thinking upon these subjects. When 
Newton discovered that a white ray of light is not 
simple but compound, did he for that reason 
exclude it from the denomination of light, and 
deny that it produced its effects, with respect to 
our perception, as if it were of the same nature 
with the elementary rays of which it is composed ? 

Sir James's second imputation is a mere repe- 
tition of the same absurdity. The compound 
pleasures of human nature; curiosity, the being an 
object of esteem and affection, the feeling of esteem 
and affection, the sense of merit, and others too 
numerous to mention ; are among the most valua- 
ble pleasures of human nature. We know them, 
by our inward experience of them,- to be so. Are 
they less pleasures because they are compound ? 
Does he who shews them to be compound do any 



53 



thing to lessen their value ; or to prevent their 
being, as Sir James expresses it, " a most im- 
portant part of that interest which reasonable 
beings pursue?" Is there a single syllable in 
Hobbes which implies that he did not set the 
same value on them, as all other men ? To infer, 
from his treating them, not as ultimate facts, but 
capable of being traced to a common source, that 
he did not allow them to be objects of rational 
esteem, is to the last degree contemptible. 

5. Sir James's last remark, alias objection, is, that 
JHohhes had " an utter want of moral sensibility'' 
This expression alone is enough to settle the cha- 
racter of Sir James. Does it mean, that Hobbes 
had no discernment, or a less accurate discern- 
ment than other men, of right and wrong ? Or 
that he was more indifferent to the distinction ? 
that is, disregarded the difference between moral 
good and evil, both in his own conduct, and in 
that of other men ? To say either of these things 
would be gross calumny. But what else can 
delicacy of moral perception, if that be moral 
sensibility, apply to ? 

Sir James informs us, where this want of 
moral sensibility is to be found. Hobbes " be- 
trays it," he says, " by the coarse and odious 
form in which he has presented the great prin- 
ciple," that morals are necessary to society. I 
am altogether unable to conceive what meaning 
Sir James annexed to these words. I know no- 



54 



thing coarse, and odious, in Hobbes's mode of 
showing that what is good for society is, in truth, 
morality. 

Sir James adds to this, that the perception of 
the utility of moral acts to society, and that of 
the connexion between the good of the individual, 
and the good of the community, are not moral 
perceptions ; or what Sir James calls " essential 
constituents of our moral feelings." Sir James 
says that this is " a common error " of moral 
reasoners, and very pernicious. It would be 
good in this case to know what feelings Sir 
James calls " moral." W e should then be able to 
see what the perception of the tendency of a 
certain class of actions to produce good, both 
public and private, had to do with those feelings 
of his. With the moral sentiments, as under- 
stood by other men, it certainly has a great deal 
to do. 

Sir James informs us, that it is part of the 
same pernicious error to suppose that the per- 
ception of the tendency of an act to do good is 
" ordinarily mingled with the most effectual 
motives to right conduct." 

This is an application of the blunder of Sir 
James about motives, which we have just ex- 
posed. He means to say that gratitude, pity, 
affection, &c., are the most ordinary motives. 
Who denies it ? But does that imply that the 
tendency of an act to produce good or evil does 



55 



not enter into the consideration of the man who 
acts from gratitude, pity, or affection? If not, 
the man's act may be a grateful act, a compas- 
sionate act, or an affectionate act, but certainly 
not a moral act ; nay, possibly, it may be an act 
thoroughly immoral ; an act for which the law 
would hang the affectionate performer. 



After some more of his stuff about cold, and 
heat, in moral investigation, and about Hobbes's 
want of moral sensibility, which, whether he 
means by it, that Hobbes had an imperfect per- 
ception and regard of moral distinctions ; or that 
the social affections in him were weak (absurdly 
expressed by the term moral insensibility), is an 
assertion utterly without evidence ;* he tells us, 
that the books which were written against 
Hobbes " sowed the seed of the ethical writings 
of Hume, Smith, Price, Kant, and Stewart ; in a 
less degree also those of Tucker and Paley : not 
to mention Mandeville, the buffoon and sophister 

* In the first of the two senses, it would be against evi- 
dence, and a base calumny. Even in the second sense, — though 
in Sir James's sentimental philosophy, a heavy charge, it is 
utterly without evidence. What ground has he for pro- 
nouncing that in Hobbes the social affections were weak ? 
None whatsoever. Not that we should admit the impu- 
tation as a disparagement, if it were proved ; as it is a well- 
known fact that the social affections were weak in some of 
the best men who ever lived. 



56 



of the ale-house ; or Helvetius, an ingenious but 
flimsy writer, the low and loose moralist of the 
vain, the selfish, and the sensual." 

The dragging in of the names of these two 
writers is characteristic of Sir James. " Apropos 
of your wife," says somebody in the play, " let us 
talk of the great Mogul." Not to mention, is the 
connective which introduces Mandeville and Hel- 
vetius, along with those, the seeds of whose phi- 
losophy had been sown by Cumberland, Cud- 
worth, Butler, &c. ; though Mandeville wrote 
nearly as early as any of those controvertists ; 
and nothing, either in his writings, or those of 
Helvetius, has the smallest connection with the 
polemical doings against Hobbes, or can be sup- 
posed to have been suggested by them. 

At all events, they were two writers of name. 
It was, therefore, in Sir James's way, to tell us 
how well he was acquainted with them. They 
were also two very unpopular names. It was 
therefore also in Sir James's way to give them a 
dash of his black brush. He knew with whom 
it would be popular to speak ill of them. He 
therefore looked out for disparaging epithets ; 
any would do, so be they were strong enough. 
So down went " the buffoon and sophister of the 
ale-house," and " flimsy writer, the low and loose 
moralist of the vain, the selfish, and the sensual." 
By these few words Sir James proves that he 
was unacquainted with the writings which he 



57 

thus traduces. No man who was acquainted 
with them would have chosen such terms to 
express himself in ; however much he might have 
dissented from what is contained in them. For 
not only have they no appropriateness to the 
faults that are in the writings, or have ever been 
imputed to them ; but they do not even point in 
that direction. 

First, for the term sophister applied to Man- 
deville. 

Though a small criticism, it is pertinent with 
respect to Sir James, to say, that no scholar uses 
the word sophister. Sophist is the name of the 
man who uses sophisms, Sophister is the same 
absurdity as criticker would be. It is a vul- 
garism, which the good company., kept by Sir 
James, did not ensure him from. 

The word is so inappropriate, that, applied to 
Mandeville, it is nothing but vague abuse. Sir 
James might just as well have called him black- 
guard. 

It is not erroneous reasoning, which is called 
sophistry. No man calls Locke a sophist, even 
when he differs from him the most widely. 

So far is Mandeville from stating his doctrines 
with artful shading and colourings to captivate 
the unwary, that he seems to have a pride in 
rousing men to opposition, by running directly 
counter to their habitual modes of thinking. No 
man ever gave his positions more nakedly to the 



58 



world. He reasons, from received opinions and 
the actual experience of mankind, with so much 
force, as to bestow great plausibility upon the 
most doubtful of his conclusions : but of that 
subtle artifice, to which we give the name so- 
phistry, he has none ; the appearance of truth 
which he contrives to throw upon his doctrines 
is drawn, in fact, from the extent to which he 
shews that they are supported, by what was gene- 
rally taught, and by what we actually know of 
mankind. 

" Buffoon of the ale-house," are words exceed- 
ingly discreditable to Sir James. The expres- 
sion denotes a man, whose endeavour it is to 
raise coarse and immoral laughter among low 
and profligate people for the encouragement of 
their debaucheries. 

In the first place, there is no mirth in the book. 
It is the gravest thing for a satire that was ever 
written. So much for the buffoonery. 

Next for the ale-house, Mandeville did not 
write to the common people at all. It is only an 
educated man that can enter into the spirit of the 
work, and derive any pleasure from the perusal 
of it. Accordingly it never was a book in the 
hands of the people, I never met with an unin- 
structed man who was acquainted with it. The 
author truly describes it, as of the nature of 
an abstract discourse. But by the term ale- 
house, added to the sophister and the buffoon, 



59 

Sir James conveys an insinuation of a kind, 
which he is very careful about casting on any 
name which the right sort of people praise, but 
very ready to cast, without troubling himself 
about the grounds of it, on any name which the 
right sort of people abuse. 

The imputation is utterly unfounded, and being 
the imputation of a crime, is peculiarly base. 
There is not a book in the English language 
which is less chargeable with the guilt of ad- 
ministering incentives to the appetites and tastes 
of the vulgar. Improper gratifications are never 
spoken of but in a way to make them odious, 
even when the paradox is maintained, that certain 
things called public benefits are promoted by 
them. The object rather is, to degrade the things 
denominated benefits, than to exalt the things 
which cause them ; from the baseness of which, 
on the other hand, is inferred the baseness of the 
things which spring from them. 

Not for the sake of Sir James (for of him the 
exposure is sufficient already), but for the truth 
of our literary history, the character of the Fable 
of the Bees needs to be set forth. 

It is a satire upon artificial society; and like 
other satires partakes of the nature of a ca- 
ricature. 

The end is to expose the mummery of the 
world, and the affectations of those who laid 
traps for praise by singing eulogiums on the 



60 



dignity of human nature ; to which end he 
shews, how much of fair appearance there is 
which is nothing but pretence ; and how much of 
the fine things, and fine actions, on which we 
pride ourselves, are the result of qualities in us 
of which we are ashamed, and which we never 
cease to decry. 

He avails himself of two positions, which were 
none of his breeding. He found them established 
in the world, on the authority of religion, and 
the gravest Divines. 

The first is, that all indulgence in things which 
are not necessary, is sensuality, and therefore 
vice. 

The second is, that there is no virtue without 
self-denial. 

From the first proposition it immediately fol- 
lowed, that we owe* every thing in the world 
we reckon fine and glorious to vice. If men had 
confined themselves to mere necessaries, there 
never would have been any arts in the world, nor 
any science. There would have been no wealth 
in any country, and consequently no power. 
Reasoning also correctly from the Political 
Economy of his time, and not of his time only, 
but of the greater part of those who think them- 
selves Doctors in the science at the present hour, 
he said, that if mankind were suddenly to grow 
virtuous, the earth would be covered with 
misery, since more than half the species derive 



61 



their subsistence from the general vices, and would 
perish if that source were dried up ; that a great 
population, therefore, accumulated wealth, and 
splendour, every thing which constitutes the 
power and glory of a state, being the effect of 
that multifarious industry which only our vices 
create, it is easy to see what a noble thing, at 
bottom, is that magnificence and power of which 
we are so proud. 

And as it is thus seen, from the first of the 
two propositions, that in the things which are 
most admired in the world there is nothing but 
what is, at bottom, mean and condemnable ; so, 
from the two together, it is with equal evidence 
seen, that there is no such thing as virtue, or 
very little at least, in mankind. For where is 
the man, who contents himself with bare neces- 
saries, when he can afford what is more agree- 
able? Where is the man who denies himself 
luxuries, up to the extent of his means, unless 
for the gratification of some appetite, not less de- 
grading ? 

Where also do you find an action, voluntarily 
performed, which is hurtful to the actor, and un- 
attended with any compensation ? When a man 
suffers evil in one way, which is made up to him 
in another, that is not self-denial ; it is a sordid 
calculation of interest ; and, upon a close scrutiny, 
this is found to be all the self-denial which there 
is in the world. The man calls upon his friends 



62 



and neighbours to observe and remember what 
he gives up. What is delighting him at heart, 
in the way of equivalent, he keeps to himself, or 
unwillingly permits to be seen. When a man 
sacrifices his fortune, or his life, for his Qountry, 
what does he get in return ? Something which 
he values beyond them : fame. And what is 
fame ? The gratification afforded to the exces- 
sive love of praise ; one of the meanest of our 
vices. And such is the foundation of the high 
and boasted deeds of mankind. 

These inferences are supported by a variety of 
well chosen incidents, and cases, of human life ; 
of ordinary and low life, as often as the applica- 
tion was peculiarly pointed and striking; de- 
picted with great liveliness and force, in language 
which indeed is almost always homely, but never 
has any thing to offend the severest virtue, hardly 
any thing to shock the most fastidious taste. 

If I am to speak what I think of his picture 
of human nature, I say, it is not true. And the 
two propositions on which it is grounded are not 
true. But the propositions were part of the 
theological morality of Mandeville's time, not 
altogether renounced in our own time ; and in the 
minds of men, taken in the lump, there is such a 
mixture of what is narrow and low, with what is 
lofty and comprehensive, that when the meaner 
ingredients are culled out, and placed in a strong 
light, the wonder is not much that the senti- 



63 



mental talk, which philosophers of the Sir 
Jamesical cast hold about human nature, should 
appear deceitful, and to deserve the exposure 
Mandeville bestowed upon it. 

What Sir James says, to please those who 
delight in hearing Helvetius traduced, is next to 
be explained. Sir James, as the representative of 
a class, is an important study. 

The " ingenious," and " flimsy," I shall pass» 
Though by what title Sir James, who does not 
come up to the flimsy, for that implies some 
thinking, imputes it to Helvetius, it would 
puzzle a man of moderate wits to find out. 

" The low and loose moralist of the vain, the 
selfish, and the sensual," deserves more attention ; 
because such an accusation, where not true, 
stamps a character on the man who makes it. 

The character, thereby assigned to Helvetius^ 
makes it a sort of a match for that, just before, 
assigned to Mandeville. As Mandeville wrote to 
supply incentives to the vitious desires of the 
poor and vulgar profligates, Helvetius on the 
other hand wrote to supply incentives to the 
desires, equally vitious, because selfish and 
sensual, of the rich and more refined. 

What I am anxious for here, is the word 
which with the greatest simplicity and force 
would deny this accusation in toto, 

I am no extravagant admirer of Helvetius. 
He is not deep, as a metaphysician ; nor close 



64 

and strong as a reasoner. But he was a good 
observer ; had reflected much on the operation of 
moral causes ; and has set some important truths 
connected with them, in a clearer light, than had 
been done by any preceding philosopher. And 
so far is it from being the tendency of his 
writings to lower the standard of morality, that 
the whole aim of them is to raise it to the utmost; 
to apportion the esteem of men to the greatness of 
the object which attracts it ; and thereby to call 
forth the greatest exertions for the attainment of 
the most valuable things. 

The uninstructed and vulgar-minded part of 
mankind, he says, have mean notions of morality. 
The class of actions to which their esteem is 
more particularly directed, is that of the actions, 
peculiarly valuable with respect to themselves ; 
the narrow views of the individual mark out in 
such minds the bounds of morality. 

But one degree elevated above this is the 
morality of small societies, or connections of men. 
In each of these little societies, the actions, 
habitually praised, and recommended for imita- 
tion, are the actions which have in view the 
interests of the little connection, and most 
effectually contribute to them. The members of 
these little connections hear their interests, and 
the actions which favour them, spoken of, ten 
times, for once that they hear any other in- 
terest, and the actions which favour them, 



65 



spoken of, and with ten times the intensity of 
applause. Imitation, and Custom, are the great 
masters of the human mind. It is matter of 
necessity that men, habituated to this narrow- 
circle of ideas, should have poor and inadequate 
conceptions of morality. 

The man, whom his education or other for- 
tunate circumstances have habituated to ideas of 
the good of one of the larger communities of 
men, a nation; and to consider the interests of 
small societies, and of individuals, as subordinate 
to the interests in which each and all of the other 
individuals and societies composing the great 
communities participate ; the man, who has 
learned to fix his esteem upon the actions which 
promote these great interests, and in whom the 
motives to the performance of such actions over- 
power all other motives, is the only man who has 
reached the elevation of true morality. The 
other moralities are not only infinitely inferior to 
this in kind ; but, when they are not retained in 
a perfect state of subordination to it, they are 
the most efficient causes of the corruption of the 
moral sentiments of mankind. Little has ever 
yet been done in the world, to cultivate the en- 
larged principle of morality ; whereas the narrow 
principles, generated by the feelings of interest, 
in individuals, and little societies, have never 
been without constant and powerful incentives. 
It is obvious, therefore, how the great morality 

F 



66 



has, to this hour, had so feeble an influence in 
the affairs of mankind; the narrow morality 
an influence so great ; and how the happiness 
of the human race has been kept at so low an 
ebb. 

To call the man, who puts forth these doc- 
trines, with a flood of light, and bends all his en- 
deavour to show, how the high and comprehensive 
principle of morality may be made to bear that 
sway in the affairs of men, which the low and 
narrow principles have hitherto so unhappily 
usurped, " the low and loose moralist of the 
vain, the selfish, and the sensual," looks like 
madness. It is but ignorance, and servility. It 
is a case of prostitution to the interest of a little 
confederacy, not reconcileable with that of the 
whole, whereof it is a part. 

A few sentences, hastily picked out of the work 
De I'Esprit, will show the tone as well as prin- 
ciples, of the morality of Helvetius. The 
14th chapter of the second discourse is entitled, 
" Des vertus de prejuge^ et des vraies vertus'- 
The chapter begins, " Je donne le nom des vertus 
de prejuge a toutes celles dont Tobservation 
exacte ne contribue en rien au bonheur public. 
Ces fausses vertus sont, dans la plupart des 
nations, plus honorees que les vraies vertus, et 
ceux qui les pratiquent en plus grande veneration 
que les bons citoyens." In contradistinction to 
these, he gives the name " vraies, a celles qui, sans 



67 



cesse, ajoiiteiit a la felicite publique, et sans les- 
quelles les societes ne peiivent siibsister." 

In the beginning of the 11th chapter of the 
same Discourse, he says, " Ce n'est plus de la 
probite par rapport a un particulier ou une petite 
societe, mais de la vraie probite, de la probite 
consideree par rapport au public, dont il s'agit 
dans ce chapitre. Cette espece de probite est la 
seule, qui reellement en merite, et qui en obtient 
generalement le nom. Ce n'est qu'en considerant 
la probite sous ce point de vue, qu'on pent se 
former des idees nettes de Fhonnetete, et trouver 
un guide a la vertu.** 

In the 23rd chapter of the same Discourse, 
where his object is to unfold the causes which 
hitherto have retarded the progress of morality, 
he says, " Pour hater les progres d'une science, 
il ne suffit pas que cette science soit utile au 
public ; il faut que chacun des citoyens, qui com- 
posent une nation, trouve quelque avantage a la 
perfectionner. Or, dans la revolution, qu'ont 
eprouve tons les peuples de la terre, I'interet 
public, c'est a dire, celui du plus grand nombre, 
sur lequel doivent toujours etre appuyes les prin- 
cipes d'une bonne morale, ne s'etant pas toujours 
trouve conforme a I'interet du plus puissant, ce 
dernier, indifferent au progres des autres sciences, 
a du s'opposer efficacement a ceux de la morale/' 

I shall quote but one other passage. It is in 
the 23rd chapter of the Third Discourse. " Ce 

F 2 



68 



n'est done point sur le terrein du luxe, et des 
richesses, mais sur celui de la pauvrete, que 
croissent les sublimes vertus ; rien de si rare que 
de rencontrer des ames elevees dans les empires 
opulens, les citoyens y eontractent trop de besoins. 
Quiconque les a multiplies a donne a la tyrannie 
des otages de sa bassesse et de sa lachete. La 
vertu qui se contente de peu est la seule qui soit 
a Tabri de la corruption." 

And this is the man whom, in England, a 
writer, with a philosophical reputation, was 
found to call the " low and loose moralist of the 
vain, the selfish, and the sensual ! 



69 



SECTION III. 

Sir James on Bishop Butler, 

Sir James glories in heaping praise on Butler. 

He takes what Butler has said, as a foundation 
on which to build. Butler, and Mackintosh, the 
joint authors of a new and true theory of ethics ; 
to one of whom we owe the foundation, to the 
other the glorious superstructure : what an item 
in a future eulogium ! 

Passing by the flourishes of vague and general 
praise, let us take the sentence which comes 
nearest the matter. " In those deep, and some- 
times dark dissertations," says Sir James, "which 
Butler preached at the Chapel of the Rolls, and 
which contain his ethical discussions, he has 
taught truths, more capable of being exactly dis- 
tinguished from the doctrines of his predecessors, 
more satisfactorily established by him, more com- 
prehensively applied to particulars, more ration- 
ally connected with each other, and therefore 
more worthy of the name of discovery than any 
with which we are acquainted." 

It is curious that, bestowing so many epithets 
upon the truths of Butler, Sir James abstains 



70 



from saying a word about the value of them. If 
Sir James's epithets were all correctly applied, the 
truths might still be insignificant. Distinguish- 
able from other men's truths ; satisfactorily estab- 
lished ; comprehensively applied ; rationally con- 
nected with each other ; all this may be affirmed 
of very trifling propositions. But Sir James says^ 
that the properties, thus assigned to Butler's 
truths, entitled them to " the name of discovery." 
One wonders what idea Sir James annexed to the 
name discovery. The connexion between " the 
properties thus assigned," and discovery, in the 
usual sense of the word, it is not easy to perceive. 

Some, however, of these characteristics of 
Butler's truths, are a little wonderful ; their 
being distinguishable, for example, from the 
doctrines of his predecessors. We should ima- 
gine, that the capability of distinction would de- 
pend upon the difference; and that every doc- 
trine, which differed from other doctrines, would 
be just as distinguishable as those of Butler. He 
does not tell us what doctrines of Butler's prede- 
cesssors he differs from. Butler himself speaks 
of no difference he had with any body, but 
Hobbes ; and with him, only on one point. 

To judge of the pertinence of his other epithets, 
" satisfactorily established," " comprehensively 
applied," " rationally connected with each 
other," we must first know what the truths are, 
to which they are applied. 



71 



They are, according to Sir James's own account 
of them, in number, two. 

The first is, that man does not act from self- 
love, which is a regard to the sum of his enjoy- 
ments ; but from his particular appetites and 
desires, each of which has its peculiar object, 
which is its end. 

The second is, that the faculty of conscience 
has a right of control over those particular pro- 
pensities, either to forbid or allow their seeking 
their own gratification. 

The first proposition is "satisfactorily estab- 
lished," as Sir James says — ^upon what ? Upon 
an abuse of language. 

Self-love, or selfishness, says Butler, and his 
follower, does not mean acting from a man's 
selfish propensities, but acting with a view to 
increase the sum of his enjoyments. All men 
who are acquainted with the English language 
know, that the word does mean what these two 
writers say it does not mean. According to them, 
there is no self-love but that which Dr. Eeid is 
at pains to distinguish from ordinary self-love, by 
calling it rational self-love. — This is not a satis- 
factory method of proving that self-love is not 
the spring of man's actions. No man ever said it 
was in this sense. 

Their other instrument of proof is, also, an 
abuse of language ; and a very copious source of 
error and delusion. They personify an abstract 



7^ 



term ; and then ascribe to it, literally, the qua- 
lities of an agent. This is in the way of the 
rhetorical Sir James. It is more surprising that 
Butler should have been deluded by so poor a 
fallacy. 

Our appetites, say they, have their objects, 
each its own, at which it aims as its end ; our 
appetite of food, for example; our appetite of 
drink ; the sexual appetite ; and so of other pro- 
pensities. None of these has the augmentation 
of the sum of our enjoyments as its object. 

Is it not miserable, to build a philosophical 
doctrine upon such a juggle of words ? Would 
not a moderate portion of reflection have sufficed 
to tell these men, that appetite is merely a 
name ; that nothing really desires, or appetizes, 
(to make a cognate word) ; nothing has an object, 
or an end ; nothing aims ; but a man. And 
when a man aims at an object, and that a selfish 
one, is it not trifling to tell us, that it is his appe- 
tite which aims, and not he ; therefore he is dis- 
interested ? 

Observe, this is one of the two truths which 
Sir James tells us are more worthy of the name 
of dLscovery^ than any with which we are ac- 
quainted. 

Observe, also, by the bye, that what is here 
adduced, as deciding the controversy about the 
selfishness of man, does not touch the matter in 
dispute. There never was any question, till 



73 



Butler came, about that state of mind in which a 
man seeks his own gratification. The only 
question was about the state of mind in which he 
seeks the gratification of others. Does that deserve 
to be called selfish or social ? 

We may remark, that Sir James's decision on 
this point is curious. According to him, it is 
neither the one nor the other. As a man is 
neither selfish, nor social, when he has an appetite 
for food, or any other desire ; so, " the desire," 
says Sir James, "that another person may be 
gratified, seeks that outward object, according to 
the general course of human desire ; " that is, 
without making him, to whom the desire belongs, 
either social or selfish. 

The next of Butler's two truths, panegyrized 
by Sir James, is, that conscience has a controling 
power over man's other propensities. 

There is here the same mystery of personifica- 
tion, as we have had to deal with in regard to the 
appetites. 

What a man's conscience is said to do, the man 
does. When the man's conscience is said to 
control, the man controls. But how ridiculous 
would any person be held who should go about to 
tell us in lofty phrase that a man has a right to 
control himself ? 

If it be replied, that the man ought to govern 
himself in a certain way, we grant it. Nobody 
denies it, or ever did. But we ask, whtj ought he ? 



74 



That question has been long asked. And surely 
it is no answer to tell us, that conscience has a 
right to direct the way ; for that only brings us 
round to the same point, that the man has a right 
to direct the way. 

This second truth of Butler, the object of Sir 
James's eulogy, is, therefore, purely nugatory. 

And now for a glance at the pertinency of Sir 
James's epithets. 

They are " satisfactorily established." We have 
seen how they are established. 

They are "comprehensively applied." There 
is no attempt at any application. 

They are " rationally connected with each 
other." There is no connection whatsoever. Man 
aims at food, and other objects. That is the 
matter of fact, blundered about in one of the pro- 
positions. Man distinguishes right from wrong. 
That is the matter of fact blundered about in the 
other. But what connection is there between 
the two, other than that they are both parts of 
the same nature ? 

After the account of what Butler has done ; in 
which Sir James says, there are " no errors ;" he 
proceeds to point out what he calls defects. 

Sir James says, that Butler assumes the exist- 
ence of the moral faculty upon the strength of 
experience. This he was , safe in doing. The 
matter of fact is undisputed. But Sir James 
complains that he has done nothing more. He 



75 



says, " he has made no attempt to determine" 
wherein the moral faculty consists. " He does 
not venture steadily to denote it by a name." 

And with regard to the other question, he says, 
" the most palpable defect of Butler's scheme is, 
that it affords no answer to the question, what is 
the distinguishing quality common to all right 
actions ? " 

But, if there be only two questions in Ethical 
Philosophy, viz. what is the moral faculty, and 
what the moral quality in actions ; and if 
Butler has answered neither ; what has he done ? 
And where is the sense of Sir James's panegyrics, 
upon a man who has done nothing ? 

The one and only object of Butler, in what Sir 
James calls "those deep and dark disquisitions," 
was to prove that man is not in all his actions a 
self-interested being. To elucidate the theory of 
morality seems not to have been in his con- 
templation. 

That which he attempted, we have seen that he 
did nothing towards accomplishing. In pro- 
ceeding to supply his defects. Sir James does two 
things. He first enlarges, with a view probably 
to its better elucidation, on Butler's own point, 
the disinterestedness of mankind. And, secondly, 
he gives us, what Butler had not attempted, a 
theory of the moral sentiments, altogether his 
own. 

First, we shall look at what he says in aid of 



76 



Butler ; viz., to prove the disinterestedness of 
human nature. 

1. He repeats, in great variety of phrase, that 
is, a great many times, Butler's own fallacy ; that 
it is not the man, but the man's appetites, which 
desire, and therefore, that in pursuing the gratifi- 
cation of his appetites he is not selfish. 

2. He tell us, that self-love is " a derived prin- 
ciple," and that this was not adverted to by 
Butler ; though it follows from it, he says, that 
" regard to self is not analogous to a self-evident 
principle." What he means is, that self-love is 
not a simple, original, principle of human nature, 
but a compound, made of elements, which, of 
course, existed before it. And in this he per- 
ceives as little as Butler himself, that he is chang- 
ing the meaning of the word self-love, and 
contending for a mere truism, which no man ever 
disputed. 

There is no man who doubts, that his idea of 
the aggregate of his pleasurable feelings is a 
complex idea, made up of the ideas of all the 
pleasures he has experienced. And there is no 
man, sufficiently acquainted with the principle of 
association, who knows not, that this idea is a 
desire; the desire of making additions to this 
aggregate. But there is also no man who is 
ignorant, that we have other desires, the simple 
desires of the elementary pleasures, of which the 
aggregate is composed. And all men, saving and 



77 



excepting Butler and Sir James, have agreed in 
giving the name selfish to the pursuit of at least a 
great part of these elementary pleasures. 

To give, as proof that man is disinterested, the 
fact that his desire of augmenting the aggregate 
of his pleasures is a derived, not an original desire, 
is an attempt to make proof out of nothing. 

Sir James cannot touch upon even the simplest 
of the mental phenomena, without showing that 
he cannot express himself about them distinctly. 

Among his other phrases, to tell us, that there 
are elementary pleasures, which precede all states 
of the mind which have reference to them — a 
piece of information, which no one needed at his 
hands — he uses this one ; — " No gratification can 
indeed be imagined without a previous desire." 
The predication must be reversed, in order to 
make sense of it. There can he no desire without 
a 'previous gratification. There can be no desire, 
without an idea of the pleasure desired. But 
there can be no idea, without a previous sensation. 
It is hard to find a man, pretending to knowledge 
on this subject, to whom these elements are a 
mystery. 

Take another of Sir James's phrases. "No 
pursuit could be selfish or interested, if there were 
not satisfactions first gained by appetites, which 
seek their own outward objects without regard to 
self ; which satisfactions compose the mass which 
is called a man's interest.'' Is not this a fine 



78 



jargon, by which to tell us, that the springs of 
action in man are the elementary pleasures of his 
nature ? He says, that no pursuit could be selfish 
or interested, without these pleasures. Did he not 
see, that there could be no pursuit at all ? To 
pursue, there must be something to be pursued. 
And only think of this for a name of these 
elementary pleasures — " satisfactions first gained 
by appetites ! " 

Sir James might have learned from all the phi- 
losophers who have treated with any accuracy of 
this subject, Reid, Stewart, Brown, Mill, that the 
states of mind called appetites consist of two 
parts, an uneasy sensation, and a desire ; that the 
uneasy sensation exists prior to experience of the 
pleasure, the desire, posterior. That this uneasy 
sensation, like all other uneasy sensations, puts 
upon tentatives for its relief ; and that it affords 
some direction, not yet distinctly explained, to the 
object whence the relief is to be derived; is matter 
of experience. But, to say there can be an idea of 
a pleasure, before the pleasure has been had, is as 
absurd as to say, that a blind man can have an 
idea of colours. "A satisfaction gained by an 
appetite" is therefore an incongruous expression ; 
and a mark of gross ignorance. 

The expression, appetites which seek their 
own outward objects without regard to self," is 
only a further reference to the trash of Butler, 
about a man's appetite seeking an object. 



79 



without his having any thing to do with the 
matter. 

The last part of the sentence has something in 
it ; that "these satisfactions" (meaning the plea- 
sures corresponding to the appetites) " compose 
the mass which is called a man's interest." In 
other words, *^a man's interest" is the mass of 
his pleasurable sensations. How does this tally 
with Sir James's grand proposition, that a man is 
interested when he seeks to add to this mass, but 
not interested when he seeks to obtain the several 
parts of it? 

Sir James admits, as a corollary from this doc* 
trine, that there is no more benevolence in a bene- 
volent feeling, than there is self-love, in a selfish 
feeling ; that both sets of feelings are on a par as 
regards disinterestedness, or selfishness. It is our 
feelings, not we, who pursue the good, either of 
ourselves, or others, except on the rare occasions 
when we are looking at the mass of our own, or 
the public good. No absurdity with respect to 
consequences opened, perhaps I had better say 
reached, the eyes of Sir James. 

As self-love. Sir James says, is not less self- 
love, for being formed of certain elements, so the 
social affection is not less the social affection, for 
being formed of certain elements. But what if 
both are formed of the same sort of elements ? 
What had Sir J ames to say to that ? 

Nobody ever denied that we had feelings called 



80 



pity, love, generosity, justice, kindness in short ; or 
denied that these complex feelings, in their direct 
operation, tended to the good of others ; the only 
question is, what these feelings are made up of. 
Sir James allows that they are made-up feel- 
ings ; but no where attempts to explain their 
composition. Now, the analytical inquirers shew, 
that, directly as in their operation they do tend 
to the good of others, they are nevertheless made 
up of feelings which are rooted in self. There 
was one way, and that an eflfectual one, of refuting 
these inquirers ; viz., by analysing the social 
affections, and shewing that they are not made 
up of the elements, to which Hartley and Mill 
have traced them. To leave this undone, and 
only to tell us that self-love is " a secondary 
formation," and social love is the same, therefore 
they are different, is to talk without a meaning. 

So much, for what Sir James has added to the 
piece of work, executed by Butler, towards proving 
the disinterestedness of man. 

In regard to the theory of morals, Sir James ; 
having asserted, in swollen phrase, first, that 
Butler had nearly expounded every thing, se- 
condly, that he had expounded nothing ; takes the 
enterprise into his own hands. 

We had better have the whole passage be- 
fore us. 

" The truth seems to be, that the moral senti- 
ments in their mature state, are a class of feel- 



81 



ings which have no other object hut the mental 
dispositions leading to voluntary action^ and the 
voluntary actions which flow from those disposi- 
tions. We are pleased with some dispositions and 
actions, and displeased with others, in ourselves 
and our fellows. We desire to cultivate the dis- 
positions, and to perform the actions, which we 
contemplate with satisfaction. These objects, like 
all those of human appetite or desire, are sought 
for their own sakes. The peculiarity of these 
desires is, that their gratification requires the use 
of no means. Nothing (unless it be a volition) is 
interposed between the desire and the voluntary 
act. It is impossible, therefore, that these pas- 
sions should undergo any change by transfer from 
the end to the means, as is the case with other 
practical principles. On the other hand, as soon 
as they are fixed on their ends, they cannot regard 
any further object. When another passion pre- 
vails over them, the end of the moral faculty is 
converted into a means of gratification. But 
volitions and actions are not themselves the end, 
or last object in view, of any other desire or aver- 
sion. Nothing stands between the moral senti- 
ments and their object. They are as it were in 
contact with the will. It is this sort of mental 
position, if the expression may be pardoned, that 
explains, or seems to explain, those characteristic 
properties which true philosophers ascribe to 
them. Being the only desires, aversions, senti- 



G 



S2 



ments, or emotions, which regard dispositions and 
actions, they necessarily extend to the whole cha- 
racter and conduct. Among motives to action, 
they alone are justly considered as universaL 
They may, and do, stand between any other prac- 
tical principle and its object ; while it is abso- 
lutely impossible that any other shall intercept 
their connection with the will. Be it observed, 
that though many passions prevail over them, no 
other can act beyond its own appointed and 
limited sphere ; and that the prevalence itself, 
leaving the natural order undisturbed in every 
other part of the mind, is perceived to be a 
disorder, when seen in another man, and felt to be 
so in the mind disordered, when the disorder sub- 
sides. Conscience may forbid the will to contri- 
bute to the gratification of a desire. No desire 
ever forbids will to obey conscience." — p. 436. 

" The moral sentiments are a class of feelings 
ivhich have no other object hut the mental dispo- 
sitions leading to voluntary actions^ and the volun- 
tary actions which flow from these dispositions'' 
This Sir James sets down as his thesis, and marks 
for peculiar emphasis, by printing the words in 
italics. 

Is it possible that Sir James conceived he was 
imparting information by these words ? 

They give us a mere truism ; that the moral 
sentiments have to do with voluntary acts. As- 
suredly involuntary acts were never regarded as 



83 



the object of the moral sentiments. Nobody ever 
conceived that there was any thing either moral 
or immoral in an involuntary act. 

Sir James's language implies that he did not 
knovi^ wherein a voluntary act consists. A volun- 
tary act means both the operation of the body, 
and the state of mind from which it proceeds. 
Where then was the sense of telling us that the 
moral sentiments regard both the acts and the 
disposition, when the acts include both ? 

And think of the state of mind of the man, who, 
taking upon him, with an air, to tell us what the 
moral sentiments are, only tells us what is their 
object; as if a man going about to tell us what 
the eye is, should think he had done wonders, by 
telling us, in misty phrase, it has light for its 
object. Sir James does not tell us even this 
object correctly. It is not voluntary acts, but a 
class of those acts, which are the object of the 
moral sentiments. And this all the world knew, 
without the aid of Sir James. 

Sir James follows with the exposition of his 
thesis. " We are pleased with some dispositions 
and actions, and displeased with others." This is 
the same thing. This is only telling us that 
certain actions are the objects of the moral senti- 
ments. Our being pleased with good acts, dis- 
pleased with bad, is what other people express 
more properly by saying we approve of the one, 
disapprove of the other. For, whatever Sir James 

G 2 



84 



might think of the matter, there is more in moral 
approbation than mere liking, the feeling we have 
towards a tulip or a dance. 

Does there not, also, appear an incoherence 
between Sir James's former sentence and this ? 
In the former he said, the moral sentiments have 
for their object voluntary acts. In this he says, 
they have for their object only "some" of them. 
Surely Sir James, in his former sentence, did not 
exclude the liking of good acts, the disliking of 
bad, from his list of moral sentiments. 

Sir James adds, in further exposition, *'We 
desire to cultivate the dispositions and perform 
the actions, which we contemplate with satisfac- 
tion." This is only telling us that we desire to 
do what we like to do. There is no doubt about 
that. It is the definition of a voluntary act, that 
it is an act which the agent is pleased to do. 
But all acts which are desirable (" contemplated," 
as Sir James says, " with satisfaction ") are not 
moral acts, nor are the sentiments with which 
they are regarded, moral sentiments. What in- 
formation do we receive with respect to the 
moral sentiments, by being told that there are 
some voluntary acts which we like, and liking 
them we desire to do them ? We still want to 
know what is distinctive in the acts we call 
moral, and what is the nature of the preference 
we bestow upon them. 

Sir James goes on : " These objects, like all 



85 



those of human appetite or desire, are sought for 
their own sakes." We have here a curious asser- 
tion, that all things are desired for their own 
sake; while of the innumerable objects of human 
desire, the undoubted fact is, that the far greater 
part are desired, not for their own sakes, but 
wholly on account of something else. 

What Sir James is about is sufficiently obvious. 
He is repeating the stuff of Butler, about an 
appetite's having an object, a desire's having an 
object, which is its end. Unless understood 
figiu^atively, to speak of a desire's having an 
object, is simply nonsense. When a man's desire 
is said to have an object, the real meaning, 
and the whole meaning is, that the man desires. 
And when Sir James says, that the desire is 
limited to its own object, which is its end, the 
fact is only this, that a man who desires a parti- 
cular object does desire it, but whether he desires 
it for its own sake, or for the sake of something 
else, depends upon the nature of the case. 

" These objects," which are " sought for their 
own sakes," are the acts we like, and the disposi- 
tions leading to them, which we like. That is to 
say, the acts ; for the outward act, detached from 
the mental part, is not an object of liking, or dis- 
liking. What Sir James tells us, therefore, is, 
that an act is sought for its own sake. The 
ignorance, which could be guilty of such an 
assertion as this, is not easy to be matched. 



86 



It is not less astonishing that a man should be 
found, who could treat of moral approbation 
under the head of desire. Why, moral approba- 
tion regards the past, an act done ; a desire 
always regards the future ; no man desires yes- 
terday, nor anything which it contained. 

We pass to another sentence. " The pecu- 
liarity of these desires is, that their gratification 
requires the use of no means." How this can 
tend to the information which we need, and 
which Sir James has promised us, namely, what 
the moral sentiments are, does not appear. We 
do not ask whether the moral sentiments act by 
means, or without means ; but what they are ;~ 
which Sir James seems by no means forward to 
tell ; it suits him better to beat about the bush. 

Let us see, however, what he says in the next 
sentence, which seems intended for an elucidation 
of the above. " Nothing (unless it be a volition) 
is interposed between the desire and the voluntary 
act." Sir James presents to us as an important 
proposition, that the moral sentiments act with- 
out means ; and the reason is, that they are in 
juxta-position with the voluntary act* He says, 
a few sentences onwards, " the moral sentiments 
are, as it were, in contact with the will." Telling 
us, however, what they are in contact with, and 
that they act without means, is not telling us 
what they are. It appears to be nothing to the 
purpose. 



87 



It implies, however, incredible confusion of 
ideas. There are two sets of sentiments, which 
regard a moral act ; those which precede the act, 
and induce to it, that is, are the cause of it ; and 
those which follow it, and are caused by it. 
Those which precede the act are volitions, and 
motives. Those which follow the act ai*e the 
moral approbation which it excites. 

Now it may be said without much impro- 
priety, in a figurative way, that those sentiments 
which precede the act are in juxta-position with 
it ; because the volition is its immediate ante- 
cedent, and the motive is the immediate ante- 
cedent of the volition. 

But in no rational sense can it be said, that the 
approbation which follows the act is in juxta- 
position with it ; because this approbation is 
bestowed upon acts thousands of years after they 
are performed. 

Sir James appears to have jumbled together in 
his head both sets of sentiments, and to have 
affirmed of the sentiments which follow the act, 
and which alone can properly be called the moral 
sentiments, that which can only be affirmed of 
those which precede the act, and which are not 
moral sentiments at all. 

"When Sir James says, that his two desires, the 
desire of the antecedent disposition, and that of 
the consequent act, which two are only one, have 
no need of means for their gratification, does he 



88 



mean, that the sentiments which precede the act 
have no need of means for their gratification ? 
viz., that an act is immediately preceded by a 
volition, and a volition by a motive ? If this be 
what he says, it is what all the world says, and of 
no use to be said here. If he means moral 
approbation, which is the only other thing he 
can mean ; how does approbation of any sort 
need means for its gratification ? Approbation is 
the gratification itself ; the gratification received 
from the thing approved. 

Sir James goes on ; " It is impossible that 
those passions should undergo any change by 
transfer from the end to the means, as is the case 
with other practical principles." 

What Sir James calls here, by a gross abuse of 
language, " passions," are the two desires spoken 
of above, which we shewed to be only one desire, 
that of the act, mental and corporeal parts in- 
cluded. But the desire of an act, which except 
by an abuse of language must respect the future, 
ought to mean exclusively the sentiments which 
precede the act ; and then nothing is expressed 
but the well-known matter of fact, that a motive 
is the immediate cause of a volition, and a voli- 
tion the immediate cause of an act ; which 
assuredly gives no information as to the moral 
sentiments. 

It is probable, however, that Sir James here 
abuses the language ; and calls the approbation 



89 



of an act the desire of it, though the act approved 
is past, and therefore not an object of desire. 
What a speech would it be : ''I did an act of 
generosity last night ; I desire that act." 

Let us however allow him his abuse of lan- 
guage, and come to his ideas. What information 
did he dream he was conveying to us, with 
respect to this moral approbation, when he said, 
that it is not changed by being transferred from 
the end to the means ? The " end," he told us 
before, was its gratification." But what is the 
gratification of moral approbation ? Why it is 
the moral approbation itself. The moral approba- 
tion is the gratification which a man derives from 
a moral act. What, then. Sir James gives us for 
om* edification is, that a gratification is not 
changed by transference to itself, because there is 
no such transference. 

The case of association, to which Sir James 
alludes, was not introduced for the sake of his 
subject, for it has nothing to do with it. The 
design must have been, to shew off. But never 
was a design more abortive ; for instead of 
shewing knowledge of association, the attempt 
makes manifest the most perfect ignorance of 
that great principle. 

It is true, there are cases in which an associa- 
tion is formed between the idea of an end, and 
the idea of the means to it, which is indissoluble ; 
and that, frequently, the idea of the means, in such 



90 



associations, obscures the idea of the end. This is 
a case of association familiar to all those who 
have studied the analysis of mind. But of what 
use is it to tell us that there cannot be such an 
association, in the case of moral approbation, and 
act ? Nobody ever supposed there was. 

There still remains some of Sir James's lan- 
guage, which importunately calls for a remark. 
He says that though moral approbation, which 
he ranks among the passions, does not undergo 
any change, by transference from the end to the 
means, other " practical principles " do. It is 
evident that by principles he here means certain 
phenomena of the human mind, such as the 
desires, the appetites, &c., not certain general 
positions in words, as when we say, the principles 
of geometry, the principles of political economy, &c. 

Sir James then applies the word " practical," 
which is only applicable to principles in the 
second sense, to principles in the first sense, 
where it is incongruous. Who ever talked of a 
practical appetite, a practical affection? As if 
there were any speculative appetites, speculative 
affections. Sir James did not know the differ- 
ence between " practical " and active. 

Sir James's language is also very inaccurate, 
when he says that things are changed by transfer- 
ence from the end to the means. There is no 
change. When money, the means of commanding 
pleasures, the most familiar instance of the associa- 



91 



tion I have above adverted to, becomes a more 
constant object of desire, than any of the plea- 
sures which it can command ; the desire of every 
thing, gross, or refined, is precisely the same 
desire which it was before. What has happened 
is, that a complex desire has been generated, which 
acts more forcibly than its elements one by one. 

What Sir James says next, it is more difficult 
to comprehend, than any thing he has given us 
yet. *^ When another passion prevails over 
them, the end of the moral faculty is converted 
into a means of gratification." 

Sir James had been talking of the desires 
which are in contact with the will, and which 
need the use of no means. It would therefore 
seem that his predication is of the sentiments 
which precede the act. The meaning of the 
words in that case would be, that when the 
motive to a moral act is overcome by another 
motive, the end of the moral faculty is converted 
into a means of gratification. The nonsense of 
this appears to be self-evident. When a man 
acts immorally, he is gratified, it says, with the 
morality of a moral act. 

If we consider the predication as made of the 
sentiments which follow the act, called moral 
approbation and disapprobation, the discrepancy 
of the ideas is not less. When moral approba- 
tion is prevented, namely, by the incurring of 
moral disapprobation, then the end of moral ap- 
probation, viz. the good whidli has not been 



92 



done, is converted into a means of gratification. 
When evil is incurred, and good missed, the evil- 
doer is gratified with the good he has prevented. 

When Sir James's moral faculty (to use his 
own and Butler's phraseology) is defeated, and 
misses its end, that is, its gratification, its gratifi- 
cation (when thus missed) is converted into a 
means of gratification. Is it possible, that Sir 
James could mean to say this ? If not, what 
could possess him, to use such language ? 

" But volitions and actions are not themselves 
the end, or last object in view, of any other desire, 
or aversion." 

What is this, other than to say, that the 
desire or aversion of volitions and actions 
is the desire or aversion of volitions and 
actions ? Every other object of desire is in the 
same situation. It is the object of its own 
desire, and not the object of any other. A man 
has a desire for a fine coat. The fine coat is the 
object of that desire, and not the object of any 
other desire. 

" Nothing stands between the moral sentiments 
and their object. They are as it were in contact 
with the will.'' 

Here again, it is doubtful whether Sir James, 
by the term " moral sentiments," means the sen- 
timents which precede, or those which follow, the 
moral act. 

If lie means the sentiments which precede, 
what he says is, that the motive to a moral act is 



4 



93 

a motive to the will. And certainly this is true 
of all motives. 

If he means the sentiments which follow the 
act, in other words moral approbation, what he 
says is, that moral approbation is the approbation 
of that mental state which gave birth to the act ; 
which is all that by possibility can be meant by 
that most extraordinary saying, that moral ap- 
probation is in contact with the will, or that 
nothing stands between it and its object. And 
it is undoubtedly true that moral approbation 
peculiarly embraces the mental state. 

This, however, is only telling us, once more, 
what moral approbation is the approbation of. 
It is, he repeats, the approbation of voluntary acts. 

Having thus examined the propositions of Sir 
J ames, piece-meal, let us look at them in conjunc- 
tion. 

1. 

Some voluntary acts we like. 

2. 

Liking them, we desire to perform them. 
3. 

We desire them for their own sakes. 
4. 

The desires of voluntary acts are in contact 
with the will. 

5. 

This mental position explains the supremacy of 
conscience 



94. 



The first two sentences present to us this 
position, that the moral sentiments are desires of 
acts. What acts? Such acts as we like. 
Moral acts, therefore, are such acts as any man 
likes. And a man acts morally, when he follows 
his inclination. 

^Vhen Sir James said, that we have a desire to 
perform certain acts, did he not know, that this is 
true of all acts. We perform no acts, without a 
desire to perform them ; one sort of desire to one 
set of acts, another to another. 

Did Sir James also not know, that the desire, 
in consequence of which we perform an act, is the 
motive to it ? 

Sir James in these propositions therefore con- 
founds moral acts with all other acts ; and he 
confounds the moral approbation of an act with 
the motive of it. 

Sir James having made discovery of this desire 
of acts, tells us some wonderful things about it. 

It is the desire of its own object, in which it 
rests, looking to nothing beyond. But this is no 
distinction. This is true of all desires. Every 
desire, if this be the mark of its morality, is a 
moral desire. 

Again, what is that desire, in consequence of 
which we perform an act ? It is not the 
desire of the act; but of some consequence of 
the act. 

This desire, says Sir James, is in contact with 



95 



the will. If he means, that a motive is the im- 
mediate antecedent of a volition ; this is true of 
all volitions, not those alone which are the ante- 
cedents of moral acts. 

The result of all is, that moral acts are pro- 
duced by motives ; and therefore conscience is 
supreme.* 

Sir James is very clamourous about this 
supremacy; and takes upon him to work the 
proof of it in a new, and, it must be confessed, a 
very surprising manner. 

Butler had said, that the moral faculty, which 
he takes as synonymous with conscience, has a 
natural supremacy over the other active prin- 
ciples of our nature, a right to regulate, and 
command. Butler, however, gave no account of 
this right. He did not explain why it is that we 
recognize such a right. Sir James supplies that 
omission. The moral sentiments have this su- 
premacy, he says, because they are in contact 
with the will. 

He might just as well have assigned any thing 
else whatsoever ; any thing that came in his head. 
He might have said the moral sentiments are not 

* The exposition here given is an abridgment of what I had 
originally written on this portion of Sir James's lucubration. 
The more minute developement, though rejected as tedious, 
may have its use to some of those who are anxious about the 
knowledge of these things. It is therefore inserted in the 
Appendix. 



96 

in contact with the will — therefore they have the 
supremacy. Between his contact and his supre- 
macy, there is precisely no connection at all. 

Sir James's words are, " It is this sort of 
mental position " (the contact) " that explains, or 
seems to explain those characteristic properties" 
(supremacy) which some philosophers ascribe to 
them." Sir James goes on : " Being the only 
desires " (viz. the desire of having a disposition, 
and the desire of performing an act) " they, 
being the only desires, aversions, sentiments, or 
emotions " (it seems that his two desires have 
plenty of names) " which regard dispositions, 
and actions, they necessarily extend to the whole 
character and conduct. Among motives to action, 
they alone are justly considered as universalr 

The feelings which precede the act in the 
breast of the performer are here again con- 
founded with the approbation which succeeds in 
the breast either of the performer or other men. 
Sir James transfers the name moral sentiments, or 
conscience, to the motives which incite the per- 
former to the act ; and because one set of feelings 
are in contact, as he expresses it, with the will, 
^. e. are motives ; another set of feelings, he 
says, are endowed with supremacy. An excellent 
title ! 

But, if the point were ever so well made out, 
that conscience has this supremacy, what does it 
contribute to the exposition which Sir James 



97 



promised us, of the nature of this supreme 
faculty? Butler proved the supremacy, to the 
satisfaction of Sir James ; and yet Sir J ames tells 
us that Butler left the exposition of the moral 
faculty unperformed. What was not exposition 
of that faculty in Butler cannot well be its expo- 
sition in Sir James. 

Sir James's wording still deserves a notice. 

He says, that the desire to cultivate moral 
dispositions, and the desire to perform moral 
acts, are the only feelings in the breast of man, 
" which regard dispositions and actions." 

Moral dispositions are not all a man's disposi- 
tions. He has dispositions which are immoral, 
and dispositions which are neither the one nor 
the other. One man has a disposition to fru- 
gality, another not ; one man a disposition to 
horse-racing, another not ; and so on. 

How came these dispositions to be generated ? 
By desire assuredly; otherwise they are in- 
voluntary; and the man is not responsible for 
them. 

As to desire of acts, it is too obvious to need 
mentioning that no act is performed without a 
desire. According to Sir J ames's doctrine, no act 
is performed without a moral desire. 

Sir James's assertion, that the desire to culti- 
vate moral dispositions, and the desire to perform 
moral acts, are the only feelings in the mind of 
man which regard dispositions and actions, is so 

H 



98 



ludicrously at variance with what every body 
knows, that one's difficulty is to conceive the 
state of mind in which a man must have been to 
put forth such a proposition. The only rational 
solution is, that a man who talks for the sake of 
talking, gets a habit of running on with words, 
connected with which he has not an idea in his 
mind. 

What here, therefore, Sir James delivers, as 
the solution of the question, why the moral 
faculty has an authority over the active prin- 
ciples, is, in the first place, not true ; and in the 
next place, if it were true, would afford no solu- 
tion at all. The cause of their supremacy he 
says is their universality. But universality is no 
ground of supremacy: every thing universal is 
not entitled to command. 

Besides, this talk about one propensity being a 
subservient, another a commanding propensity, is 
merely that figurative jargon, the absurdity of 
which we have already seen. 

When we say that a propensity does so and so, 
we mean that a man does so and so, from this or 
that motive. When we say that one propensity 
controls another, we only mean that a man thinks 
it better to act in one way than in another. 

In explaining the supremacy of the moral 
faculty, by the pretence of universality, it is vain 
to tell us, that the man always prefers acting 
morally, for that is not the fact ; or to tell us, that 



99 

he feels he ought always to prefer it ; for, grant- 
ing the fact, and it is not to be granted abso- 
lutely, it is only affirming the mental phenomenon, 
not explaining it. The question, the solution of 
which Sir James tells us he is after all this while, 
namely, why a man judges, that he ought, is 
untouched. 

Sir James affirms, that there is an univei^al 
feeling of obligation to do what is right, abstain 
from what is wrong. But what does that prove? 
Nothing at all, but its own existence. It is a 
phenomenon of human nature. Is it an ultimate 
fact ? or is it a complex phenomenon, resolvable 
into more simple elements? 

Sir James says, " Among motives to action, the 
moral sentiments alone are justly considered as 
unimrsalr What Sir James here calls the moral 
sentiments, if they are, as he says, motives, and 
the universal motives, are the sentiments which 
precede the acts ; and yet they are the same two 
desires, the desire of volitions, and the desire of 
acts, which we have been obliged to consider as 
moral approbation and disapprobation. Moral 
approbation, therefore, and the object of it, in the 
language of Sir James, are the same thing. 

And these two, moral approbation, and the 
object of it, he says are universal motives. A man 
capable of penning sentences like these is surely 
no ordinary phenomenon.* 

* " What a wretched abuse of words is this ; and what 

H 2 



100 



" This result of the peculiar relation of con- 
science to the will, justifies those metaphorical 
expressions which ascribe to it authority, and the 
right of universal command." 

The peculiar relation which Sir James speaks 
of, is what he had called before, " contiguity as it 
were." What he means by the result of that con- 
tiguity, is more obscure. The natural construc- 
tion implies that it is the power of forbidding, or 
commanding, ascribed to it in the two preceding 
sentences. But if so, observe what the assertions 
amount to. The right of command belongs to 
conscience, from its relation to the will. This 
right of command justifies the expressions which 
ascribe to it that right. Why, what else should 
justify any expression ascribing a quality to any 
thing, but the fact of its belonging to the thing ? 
Were a writer to say, the faculty of vision in man 
justifies the use of expressions ascribing to him 
that faculty ; what would be thought of him ? 
But is the talk of Sir James better nonsense ? 

Sir James goes on with what seems intended 
for an illustration of the above important remark. 
" The conscience is immutable." I believe this is 
the first time that such an attribute, since the 
word was first invented, was ever ascribed to it. 
Does it mean that conscience is always con- 
gross shifting ; in order to appear to give a solution of what 
they do not understand." — Home Tooke, Diversions of Pur- 
ley, ii- 450. 



101 



science? In that sense it is only on a par with 
all other things. A hand is always a hand. 

Does it mean that conscience is always right ? 
If so, what is meant by the terms, an ill-informed 
conscience, a misguided conscience ? Sir J ames 
explains. " The conscience is immutable," he 
says ; " for, by the law which regulates all feel- 
ings, it must rest on action, which is its object, 
and beyond which it cannot look." 

The immutability, then, consists in this — that 
conscience has an object, and it always looks to 
that object. But is this peculiar to conscience ? 
Is not the appetite of food, the appetite of food ? 
avarice the appetite of wealth ? ambition the appe- 
tite of power ? If conscience " rests on action," 
(a funny expression), does not hunger, by the 
law which regulates all feelings," rest on food, 
avarice on wealth, and so on ; and are they not, 
if that be immutability, all as immutable as con- 
science? And if this immutability constitutes 
the right of command, have they not all that 
right? But, independently of this, why should 
immutability give a right of command ? Between 
immutability and right of command, there seems 
to be no connection whatsoever. 

With respect to this right of command, v^hich 
Sir James is so anxious to make out, a word is 
necessary. 

Sir James so little understands the import of 
words, as to be ignorant that the very term con- 



102 



science, moral faculty, involves the idea of com- 
mand. It is this faculty which declares what is 
right and what is wrong. But to declare what 
ought to be done, what ought not to be done, the 
same as declaring what is right and what is 
wrong, is the very essence of command ; it is the 
moral command, very distinct from the physical, 
sanctioned by extrinsic punishments or rewards. 

We have no occasion, therefore, to look out for 
any ground of command ; it is involved in the 
idea of right and wrong. Right is what ought 
to be done ; wrong what ought not to be done. 
The true account, therefore, of the idea of right 
and wrong, is the only account of the command, 
implied in the declaration of right and wrong. 

Sir James, more foolish than Butler, who 
assumed the right of command, without seeking 
to account for it, seems to have thought he would 
greatly improve upon Butler, if he shewed upon 
what grounds it rested. 

He has already given us universality, and immu- 
tability, as two of his grounds ; and we have seen 
what they are good for. He comes now to an- 
other, independence. What he means by inde- 
pendence is this ; that our actions being all in our 
own power, we cannot be hindered from perform- 
ing a moral act, whenever we please. He puts this 
matter of fact into strange lingo. But assuredly 
this matter of fact has nothing to do with right 
of command. 



103 



We must, however, have Sir James's words. 
If his ideas are always worthless, it is not an 
ordinary lesson which may be extracted from his 
use of words. 

" As the objects of all other desires are out- 
ward, the satisfaction of them may be frustrated 
by outward causes. The moral sentiments may 
always be gratified, because voluntary actions, 
and moral dispositions, spring from within. No 
external circumstance affects them. Hence their 
independence. As the moral sentiment needs no 
means, and the desire is instantaneously followed 
by the volition, it seems to be either that which 
first suggests the relation between command and 
ohedience, or, at least, that which affords the 
simplest instance of it." 

There is not one of the more complicated phe- 
nomena of the human mind of which Sir James 
has more in his brain than a confused shadow of 
an idea. He is therefore constantly mistaking 
one thing for another. 

He says, " Voluntary actions and moral dispo- 
sitions spring from within, hence the moral senti- 
ments may always be gratified." He did not see 
that immoral dispositions spring also from within; 
and that voluntary actions include all actions. 
According to this shewing, immoral sentiments 
have as much right to command as moral senti- 
ments. 

Sir J ames says, " As the moral sentiment needs 



104 



no means," [addi nor the immoral either], " and 
the desire is instantaneously followed by the voli- 
tion," \^addf in the case of the immoral sentiment, 
as well as the moral], " it seems to be either that 
which," &c. Sir James's its, and tJieys, &c., are 
very much like those of the Bishop of Worcester, 
of which Locke so frequently complained. The 
bishop, he said, exercised a despotism over those 
words, which no man of inferior consequence 
could venture upon. It was often a matter of 
doubtful inference, whether they related to the 
words which stood in order of syntax with them, 
or to something else, which was to be gathered 
from the context. Thus Sir James's it, has 
standing before it, " the moral sentiment," " the 
desire," which is another name for the same 
thing — and " the volition." Which of these is 
the antecedent ? or is any of them the antece- 
dent ? He says this, " It is either that which 
first suggests the relation between command and 
obedience, or," &c. First of all, what does he 
mean by the first suggestion of the relation 
between command and obedience ? Is it that 
from which the idea, or knowledge of the relation, 
is first derived ? In that sense the moral senti- 
ment, or desire, cannot be the antecedent ; for 
even Sir James will hardly venture to say, that 
it is from the moral desire, our idea of the 
relation between command and obedience, is first 
derived. As little will volition answer the pur- 



105 



pose. Volition does not give us the first ideas of 
command and obedience. 

Sir James, perhaps, means to say, that the 
relation between desire and volition, which he 
says is that of immediate sequence, suggests 
the relation of command and obedience, which is 
not an immediate sequence. 

Did Sir James imagine, that we have no idea 
of command and obedience, till we have an idea 
of the relation between the desire and the will ? 
The number of people is small, who ever make 
that distinction at all : and no wonder ; for who 
but Sir James ever yet spoke of the desire of a 
will ? "I desire to lift my arm," is an expression 
exactly equivalent to " I will to lift my arm." Sir 
James would therefore say, " I desire to desire to 
lift," &c. But what is " I desire to desire," but 
a very bad mode of saying " I desire ?" 

Sir James says the relation of the desire to the 
will, " is at least that which affords the simplest 
instance of it." Sir James refuses to express any 
thing correctly. The relation of the desire to the 
will is an instance of command and obedience, if 
it has any thing to do with that phenomenon. 
It does not afford an instance ; that is, produce 
something else which is an instance. 

Sir James then considers the desire a com- 
mand, the will an obedience. One abstraction 
commands another. Is not this instructive dis- 
course ? Could Sir James never understand, that 



106 



it is the man only that acts ? Those acts of his 
which get abstract names for convenience, his 
desires, his volitions, &c., are not things that act, 
they are the man's acts. But to say that a man's 
act acts, that his stroke strikes, is the sort of talk 
which all men call nonsense. 

Sir James says, the desire of a volition is the 
command of a volition, making command syno- 
nymous with desire. He would therefore say, if 
he were to quit his personifications, and try to 
state simply the matter of fact, " I command 
myself to will." But what can we make of the 
expression, " a man commands himself to will?" 
It either means, that he wills himself to will, or 
it means nothing. But is not this again another 
specimen of that sort of discourse which men 
call nonsense ? 

But even if Sir James's desire and volition 
were an instance of command and obedience, 
which it is such nonsense to call them, what con- 
nection has that with the right to command, 
which Sir James ascribes to a particular class of 
desires above all others ? What Sir James 
assigns for a reason is in general nothing at all, — 
words, as here, without any meaning. And if 
what he assigns were a reality, it would not in 
the least account for that of which he gives it as 
the account. 

If a man can command himself to will, does 
his moral command derive any authority from 



107 



that? If commanding himself to will gives a 
right, he commands himself to will, as much in 
the case of immoral commands, as the moral 
ones. 

We have now examined Sir James's grounds 
why we do, and approve doing, that which we 
deem right ; abstain from doing, and approve 
abstaining from doing, that which we deem 
wrong, the account of which necessarily lies, in our 
so deeming, — in that and nothing else, — instead 
of which. Sir James tells us, that we so act, and 
so abstain, so approve, and so disapprove, because 
the desire of cultivating a disposition leading to 
voluntary acts, and the desire of performing the 
acts which follow from these dispositions, are 
universal, immutable, and independent. The 
nonsense which he has delivered under these 
heads, is certainly not to be surpassed. 

The whole of what follows, to the end of the 
paragraph, is mere floiu'ish, a declamatory repe- 
tition of what Sir James thinks he has proved; 
and which we have shewn that he has not 
proved ; having made obvious that he has done 
nothing but trifle solemnly with the subject, ad- 
vancing either trite observations, or truisms, or 
identical propositions, or propositions totally, and 
often ludicrously false. Nevertheless, it will be 
useful to quote the passage, interspersing such 
remarks, as Sir James's forms of expression may 
seem to demand. 



108 



It is therefore with the most rigorous pre- 
cision that authority and universality are ascribed 
to them." After what has been said, this requires 
no remark. " Their only unfortunate property 
is their too frequent weakness ; but it is apparent 
that it is from that circumstance alone, that their 
failure arises." In a contest of strength it could 
arise from no other. " Thus considered, the lan- 
guage of Butler concerning conscience, that had 
it strength as it has right it would govern the 
world, which may seem to be only an effusion of 
general feeling, proves to be a just statement of 
the nature and action of the highest of human 
faculties." 

There is no more certain test of an understand- 
ing which has no force in it, than the facility 
with which it is taken in by a truism. Butler 
says, — that if the moral faculty were strong 
enough, we should all act morally ; this is 
the same thing as telling us, that if we all did 
act morally, we all should act morally. And this 
is one great half of the wonderful discoveries 
ascribed to Butler by Sir James. When the 
matter of fact, obscured by ridiculous language, 
about a conscience having authority, is expressed 
naturally, there is no difficulty to any body. The 
man decides. Conscience is but a word. The 
man decides that certain things are right, other 
things are wrong. What authority does he want 
for doing what is right ; abstaining from what is 



109 



wrong? Jn the very deciding, that an act is 
right, he decides that it ought to be done. Is 
not this all that is meant by the command of 
conscience ? The very point decided is the ob- 
ligation. The talk about the right of command 
assigned to conscience is but so much jargon. It 
literally means, that what is judged right to be 
done, is judged right to be done ; which, to be 
sure, is a conclusion of the class for which Sir 
James has a predilection. 

Sir James goes on ; " The union of univer- 
sality, immutability, and independence, with 
direct action on the will, which distinguishes 
the moral sense from every other part of our 
practical nature,* renders it scarcely metaphorical 
language to ascribe to it unbounded sovereignty 
and awful authority over the whole of the world 
within." The predication here is mere repeti- 
tion of what Sir James has been making out so 
laboriously, and to so little purpose, that the 
moral faculty has a right to command. It is a re- 
petition, however, of that unmeaning proposition, 
in very inflated language, some parts of which 

* Practical nature, what is that? A practical man is a 
man conversant with practice. Is a practical nature, a nature 
conversant with practice? Sir James in another place talked 
of practical principles ; which by the usage of the language 
should mean, principles conversant with practice. Sir James 
misapplied the word. He mistook the difference between it 
and action. He does the same thing here. And what is 
more, mistakes our nature " for part of our nature. 



110 



had better be noticed. Observe, first, that Sir 
James here changes the term moral faculty into 
moral sense. Sir James knew that the term 
moral sense is the designation of a particular 
theory, which is wholly inconsistent with Sir 
James's. According to Sir James, the moral sen- 
tim.ents, which have the right of command, are 
desires ; but how he would make desires into a 
sense, I pretend not to guess. Sir James says, 
that the union of universality, immutability, and 
independence (we have seen what they are) give 
these desires " unbounded sovereignty." Why, or 
how ? Sir James shews not. Sovereignty is one 
thing ; universality, immutability, independence, 
are different things. Sir James affirms they con- 
fer sovereignty; and that is all. We have his 
words for it. That is Sir James's best mode of 
proving. 

Sir James goes on with his union ; it " shews," 
he says, " that attributes, well denoted by terms 
significant of command and control, are in fact 
inseparable from it." The attributes he means 
are his universality, immutability, and independ- 
ence. The " union " of them, he says, " shews " 
something. But what can the union of them 
shew," which they do not " shew" separately? 
He says the names of them " are significant of 
command and control." Did Sir James ever 
think at all, when he was putting down the words 
of this treatise ? Was there any intercourse 



Ill 



between his mind and his fingers ? Whoever 
before imagined that the words nniversality, in- 
dependence, immutability, involved any idea of 
command ? Besides this, the union of them, he 
says, " shews " something else. It " shews 
that they are inseparable from it" (the moral 
sense). How does the union come to shew any 
such thing ? The union only means that they 
agree in being attributes. That three attributes 
agree in being attributes proves, he says, that 
they are inseparable attributes. Can it be be- 
lieved that a man wrote this seriously? What 
follows is better still. That three attributes 
agree in being attributes of some one thing, 
proves, he says, that the three constitute the 
very essence of the thing. Colour, and size, and 
shape, are three attributes of a man's eye ; the 
union of these three proves that they are the 
very essence of the eye. 

Sir James has not yet done with his " union : " — 
" It justifies those ancient moralists who repre- 
sent it as alone securing, if not forming the moral 
liberty of man." First of all, what is it Sir 
James means by the ''moral liberty of man?" 
Does he mean what is called the liberty of the 
will? Let us see whether that meaning w^ill 
answer his purpose. Did any philosopher, either 
ancient, or modern, ever say that the moral sense 
" secured," or " formed," the liberty of the will ? 
It has assuredly no connection with the will 



112 

different in kind from that which any other of 
our active principles possesses. 

There is only one other meaning which I am 
able to invent for what he calls the " moral 
liberty of man." The Stoics boasted, that a 
man's actions were in his own power, and that 
he never could be compelled to do an immoral 
act without his own consent. But what use is 
there for Sir James's " union," to confirm an 
opinion which nobody ever disputed ; and which 
means only that a man cannot be compelled to 
perform a voluntary act, without his consent. 
Which is as much as to say, an act cannot be 
voluntary, if it is at the same time involun- 
tary. Or a voluntary act is always a voluntary 
act. 

Sir James, still going on with his long sentence 
about the " union," finishes thus : " And finally, 
when religion rises from its roots in virtuous 
feeling, it clothes conscience with the sublime 
character of representing the divine purity and 
majesty in the human soul." 

Sir James's (its) in this sentence, is another 
instance of the privilege Sir James uses in 
common with Locke's bishop. In the former 
sentences, wherein it appears, it always applies 
either to his " union," or to his " moral 
sense." In this case neither of these ante- 
cedents will do. The only antecedent that com- 
ports with any meaning is "religion." What 



113 



he says, then, is, that " religion rises from its 
own roots." It certainly cannot rise from any 
other roots. Next he says, that " its roots are in 
virtuous feeling." This expression is ambiguous ; 
" the roots of religion in virtuous feeling," may 
mean, either that the virtuous feeling is the root 
or roots of religion ; or it may mean, that the 
virtuous feeling is not the root, but the soil in 
which the root is fixed. Sir James says, that 
religion rises from virtuous feeling, which is its 
root, or the soil in which its root is fixed. And 
what does it do when it " rises ? " It " clothes." 
And what does it " clothe ? " Conscience. And 
what does it clothe conscience with? A " sublime 
character." And what is the " sublime character ? " 
A power of " representing " the divine attributes 
in the human soul. 

Now to pass by the jargon about the " root," 
which has nothing to do with the present subject, 
and also the metaphorical flourishing, let us ask 
what he means when he says religion imparts 
to conscience a power of representing the divine 
attributes in the human soul ? Does it mean the 
more accurate ideas, which we derive from reve- 
lation, of the divine perfections ? Or does it 
mean, the sanction which morality derives from 
the idea of the divine approval ? These are all 
the ways in which religion touches the moral 
faculty. But what a jargon, in which to express 
this solemn but simple truth ? And upon which 

I 



114 



of the points, which Sir James was called upon to 
make out, has it any bearing whatsoever ? 

Sir James, having thus expounded the moral 
sentiments ; given us, as he afterwards calls it, 
his ethical theory, — appends an observation, 

" Be it observed," he says, " that though many 
passions prevail over them, no other can act 
beyond its own appointed and limited sphere ; 
and that the prevalence itself, leaving the natural 
order undisturbed in any other part of the mind, 
is perceived to be a disorder, when seen in 
another man, and felt to be so by the mind dis- 
ordered, v/hen the disorder subsides," 

Sir James says that the moral passions (he here 
ranks the moral sentiments among the passions, 
according to his usual accuracy of speech) can 
alone act beyond their own appropriate anrf 
limited sphere. 

What he means to say is, that the desire of 
food never acts against the desire of drink, nor 
the desire of drink against that of food, and so 
on ; but the desire of a moral act opposes all 
other desires, whenever they are wrong. Here, 
again, Sir James wholly misapprehends the phe- 
nomena. It is not true of any one of those 
desires, that it does not oppose another desire, in 
the very sense in which the moral desire opposes 
it. The moral desire does not oppose the desire 
of food ; a man may desire food or drink as long 
as he pleases. The moral desire (pardon the 



115 



absurdity of the term) only desires a moral act ; 
in doing which it antagonizes with every desire 
of an immoral act, and, when it is stronger, pre- 
vails. In this sense, the desire of food is opposed, 
and that successfully, by the desire of drink, as 
often as a man prefers the pleasure of intoxica- 
tion, to the pleasure of eating. In fact, it is the 
case, whenever of two antagonist and synchronous 
desires one prevails. 

Sir James says, that the prevalence itself, that 
is, the man's acting, in obedience to some impulse 
of his nature, with a violation of morality, leaves 
the natural order undisturbed in any other part of 
the mind. 

Sir James's inaccuracy in the use of words, is 
a phenomenon. He says, that something is in 
any part of the mind, when he means every. 
Suppose I should say this house is very disagree- 
able ; there is a bad smell in any part of it 
what would be thought of my knowledge of the 
English language ? 

But now to come to Sir James's undisturbed 
order. Let the case be a violation of chastity. 
Sir James says, this is a disturbance of the natural 
order in some part of the mind ; while the na- 
tural order remains undisturbed in " any " other 
part. 

One or two questions here. A violation of 
€hastity disturbs the natural order in one part of 
the mind. What part? Or into how many 

I 12 



116 



parts does Sir James divide the mind ? Or is 
this only a metaphorical division, while, in 
reality, there is no division at all ? What, then^ 
is the meaning ? That the sexual impulse, in- 
stead of being subordinate to the moral dictate, 
becomes superior to it ? But why is this a viola- 
tion of the natural order ? Is it not according to 
nature to obey the strongest impulse ? Sir 
James says, the sexual impulse ought not, and the 
moral ought to have been obeyed. This is merely 
bringing us once more to the same point. It is 
giving us the phenomenon for its own explana- 
tion. The phenomenon of moral obligation is a 
fact in human nature. Sir James undertakes to 
explain this fact ; and after leading us through a 
labyrinth of words, he ends in this, that the phe- 
nomenon is the phenomenon, and farther the 
exponent saith not. 

If Sir James means, by the natural order he 
here speaks of, obedience to the moral impulse 
over all other impulses (and I can assign no other 
rational meaning to his words), his telling us that 
the violation of this order in a case of sexual 
indulgence leaves the natural order undisturbed in 
*' any" other part of the mind, can only mean 
that obedience to the sexual appetite in pre- 
ference to the moral dictate of the mind, does not 
imply obedience to the appetite of food, or any 
other impulse, in disobedience of the moral dictate. 
But surely this is a matter of common experience, 



117 



of which no man needed to be informed by Sir 
James. Oh, what a misfortune to have acquired 
the habit of venting trite, or identical proposi- 
tions, in perplexed and mysterious language, before 
audiences easily and willingly deceived ! 

This obedience to the sexual, disobedience to 
the moral impulse, Sir James says, is perceived to 
be a disorder, when seen in another man. By 
disorder he means disobedience to the moral dic- 
tates. Is it then any thing extraordinary, that a 
violation of morality should by those who see it 
be known to be a violation of morality ? or con- 
sidered to be so, by the man himself, when the 
temptation is over ? 

It is for the benefit of exemplifying strongly to 
the young, the tendency of vague and circuitous 
language, in philosophy, that there is any use in 
attending to Sir James. For that reason, we 
notice the two sentences which he gives us next. 
" Conscience may forbid the will to contribute to 
the gratification of a desire. No desire ever for- 
bids will to obey conscience." All this personifi- 
cation of certain mental phenomena ; one pheno- 
menon forbidding another phenomenon ; one 
phenomenon contributing to the gratification of 
another phenomenon ; a certain phenomenon 
never forbidding a certain phenomenon to obey a 
third phenomenon ; is, in itself, rank nonsense. 
And when you apply to it the only rational mean- 
ing of which it is susceptible, it is a trite, or rather 



118 



nugatory observation ; neither more nor less that 
this, that it is sometimes immoral to obey a desire; 
but it is never immoral to obey conscience in 
opposition to a desire ; which seems to come to 
this, that it is moral to act morally, immoral to 
act immorally. And this is the sum and sub- 
stance of Sir James's " theory." 

At the same time, and after all this laborious 
trifling, the subject itself is simple. 

There are, as we have had frequent occasion to 
observe, two sets of feelings (using feeling gene- 
rically as the name of any state of mind) concerned 
about moral acts. The first set of feelings are 
those which precede the act in the mind of the 
actor, and are the cause of it. The second set 
are those which follow the act, and are caused 
by it. 

About the first set of feelings, there never has 
been any difficulty. They have been always well 
understood. They are the motives to the acts, 
and the dispositions or afiections from which the 
motives proceed. There never was a question 
about them but one, whether they were original 
or derived ; that is, whether they were ultimate 
facts, or had their origin in the personal feelings 
of the individual. 

The second set are comprehended in the terms 
moral approbation and disapprobation. With 
respect to the existence of these feelings, there is 
as little room for controversy. Every man has 



119 



the consciousness of them ; knows what causes 
them, and what the effects which it is their ten- 
dency to produce. But there has been great con- 
troversy about what they are, and various opinions 
have been put forth and maintained concerning 
them. 

Sir James undertook to tell us what they are ; 
and, after a tedious round of talk, has ended by 
telling us — what we are not the wiser for. 

The greater part of what he has said relates to 
the first set of feelings, those which precede the 
met, about which we had no need of his talk ; for 
every body understands them ; and the only 
inquiry which concerns them, viz. what is their 
composition, he has left untouched. He has told 
us, that they are desires ; that, as such, they have 
objects ; that these objects are their objects ; that 
they are in contact with the wilL This, however, 
is only a strange way of stating the matter of fact, 
which all men know, that moral acts, like other 
acts, are produced by volitions, and volitions by 
desires. 

The remarkable thing is Sir James's transition 
to the sentiments which follow the act, and are 
produced by it. He says, that the sentiments 
which precede the act are also the sentiments 
which follow the act; and that they are so by being 
in contact with the will. 

And this is Sir James's account of moral ap- 
probation and disapprobation. 



120 



SECTION IV. 

Sir James on Bentham. 

Slit James has made the most perfect exhibition 
of himself, in the article on Mr. Bentham. 

He begins, as most due, with a panegyric on 
himself. He has had the courage to speak 
honestly of former philosophers. He is willing 
to put his courage and honesty to the severest 
test, in speaking of Mr. Bentham. And he appeals 
to " the very few who are at once enlightened, 
and unbiassed," whether " his firmness and equity 
have stood this trial." 

The reader may ask, naturally enough, what 
call there was for this loud profession of virtue on 
the present occasion? As Sir James was not 
going to praise, but to help in disparaging, an 
unpopular writer, he had nothing to fear. His 
" courage," and " firmness," at all events, what- 
ever was the case with his " honesty," had no 
severe trial to undergo, in taking the very course 
which led most directly to his end. 

Sir James's mode of expressing himself gives 
us here, as elsewhere, something to do. " Per- 
haps," he says, (Sir James is seldom sure,) *• the 
utter hopelessness of any expedient for satisfying 



I 



121 



his (Bentham's) followers, or softening his oppo» 
nents — " Who called upon Sir James for any such 
expedient ?" His business was to appreciate 
accurately the merits, and demerits of the writer, 
without consulting the pleasure, either of those 
who liked, or of those who disliked him. " The 
utter hopelessness of any such expedient may," 
he says, " perhaps enable a writer to look steadily 
and solely at what he believes to be the dictates 
of truth and justice." If Sir James needed helps, 
to enable him to regard exclusively what " he 
believed to be the dictates of truth and justice," in 
representing the characters of other writers, he 
was very unfit for the task he had undertaken. 
What species of man is it, who can speak other 
than what " he believes to be the dictates of truth 
and justice?" Sir James says, it was the utter 
hopelessness of pleasing any body, at least any of 
those who took a part, one way or other, regarding 
Bentham, which elevated him to that height of 
virtue. Could he have pleased any body by an 
" expedient" — truth and justice, he seems to think, 
might have fared indifferently. 

In the short discourses, which Sir James gives 
us on a list of names, one after another, (the sort 
of things which make articles in a magazine, and 
which he calls, when hung together like beads on 
a string, the history of philosophy), the first part 
is generally something in the way of biography. 
This rule he observes in the article on Bentham. 



122 



When any one takes on him to state matters of 
fact, material to the reputation of individuals, 
even those of former times, much more those who 
are alive, (Mr. Bentham was alive when the notable 
dissertation appeared), he is bound to the utmost 
vigilance, in ascertaining the truth, even to mi- 
nuteness, of every thing which he states. The 
accusation against Sir James, on this score, is very 
serious. 

The degree of ignorance which he displays 
respecting the habits of Mr. Bentham, considering 
the opportunities of knowledge which he had, is 
amazing. His statements, confidently given, are, 
with hardly any exception, such departures from 
the truth as deserve the name of misrepresenta- 
tions ; and, as they are on the unfavourable side, 
of unfounded imputations. This does not entitle 
us to impute wilful, and malignant mendacity to 
Sir James. But it proves him to have been a 
man who, in speaking of others, to serve a pur- 
pose, little minded whether he was speaking cor- 
rectly or incorrectly. 

He begins his talk about Mr. Bentham, with 
some unknown persons whom he calls his disci- 
ples. He frames a picture in his imagination, 
as remote from the truth as can well be imagined, 
at the same time very unfavourable to the parties 
concerned in it, and vouches for this to the public, 
as a statement of matters of fact. 

What motive Sir James had for such a pro- 



123 



ceeding as this, is a question which will not fail 
to be asked by those who are coming upon the 
stage ; and to which the recollection of the prin- 
cipal divisions of political opinion, and pretension, 
in this country, a few years previous to the time 
when Sir James began to pen the Dissertation, 
supplies the answer. 

" The disciples of Mr. Bentham derive their 
opinions not so much from the cold perusal of his 
.writings, as from familiar converse with a master, 
from whose lips," &c. 

This is mere fiction. It may be safely affirmed, 
that no man ever derived his opinions from the 
lips of Mr. Bentham. It is well known, to all 
who are acquainted with the habits of that great 
man, that conversation with him was relaxation 
purely. It was when he had his pen in his hand, 
that his mind was ever raised to the tone of 
disquisition ; and he hated at any other time to be 
called upon for the labour of thinking. Except in 
the way of allusion, or the mention of some casual 
circumstance, the doctrines he taught were rarely, 
if ever, the subject of conversation in his pre- 
sence. 

It is also a matter of fact, that till within a very 
few years of the death of Mr. Bentham, the men, 
of any pretension to letters, who shared his inti- 
macy, and saw enough of him to have the oppor- 
tunity of learning much from his lips, were, in 
number, two. These men were familiar with the 



124 



writings of Mr. Bentham ; one of them, at least, be- 
fore he was acquainted with his person. And they 
were neither of them men, who took any body for 
a master, though they were drawn to Mr. Bentham 
by the sympathy of common opinions, and by the 
respect due to a man who had done more than any 
body else to illustrate and recommend doctrines, 
which they deemed of first-rate importance to the 
happiness of mankind. 

This is the whole foundation, in matter of fact, 
which Sir James had for making the statement to 
the world, with unhesitating assurance (none of 
the "perhapses" here, without which, on other 
occasions, he hardly ventures to affirm, that two 
and two make four), that Mr. Bentham's habit, 
and practice was, to hold forth in a conventicle of 
fools, or knaves, or both, such as elsewhere was 
not to be found on the face of the earth. 

During a few years previously to Mr. Ben- 
tham's death, when his reputation throughout 
Europe made the pleasure of seeing him generally 
sought, he was led by degrees to open his doors 
to a greater number of visitors ; the larger pro- 
portion of them, however, strangers, mostly in- 
deed foreigners, who saw him a few times, and 
then closed their intercourse. Such men, as he 
consented to see, he received at dinner, and only 
one at a time. For it was one of his rules, seldom 
infringed, that his working hours in the morning 
were not to be interrupted for any body ; and 



125 



another, that conversation was never good for any 
thing with more than one person at a time. The 
men whom, even during this short and last period 
of his life he saw with any frequency, or who 
professed peculiar esteem for his doctrines, were 
but two or three at most. 

Sir James has more to say about his conven- 
ticle. " He and they," (the grand quack, and the 
little ones), " as they desire the credit of braving 
vulgar prejudices, so must be content to incur the 
imputation of falling into the neighbouring vices, 
of seeking distinction by singularity; of clinging 
to opinions because they are obnoxious; of 
wantonly wounding the most respectable feelings 
of mankind ; of regarding an immense display 
of method and nomenclature as a sure token of 
a corresponding increase of knowledge ; and of 
considering themselves as a chosen few, whom an 
initiation into the most secret mysteries of philo- 
sophy entitles to look down with pity, if not 
contempt, on the profane m.ultitude." 

This is not a short catalogue of imputations, 
all opprobrious (they are called " vices " by Sir 
James himself), and all unfounded. 

Sir James, first, pays the men an equivocal com- 
pliment. They brave vulgar prejudices. This 
is good, or not good, as the case may be. It 
is sometimes an act of virtue, to yield to pre- 
judices. Further, it is hardly ever any thing but 
a vice, to brave them. The people are not to be 



126 



insulted for their errors ; but weaned from them ; 
even when the time is most fully come for acting 
on principles better than theirs. 

Mr. Bentham never braved prejudices. He 
reasoned with those who were mistaken. But he 
braved sinister interests, however powerful ; and 
gave them no quarter, wherever he found them at 
mischievous work. And extraordinary, even at 
this early day, are the effects which may be 
traced to his manly and unsparing disclosures ; 
thoroughly, I am ready to confess, out of the 
line of Sir James's exertions, and calculated to 
excite in him, and in those who patronized him, 
no ordinary resentment. 

The imputation, standing first in order, is — 
that Mr. Bentham, and the tribe who listened to 
him, " sought distinction by singularity." To 
seek reputation by fraudulent means, is the 
characteristic property of the mountebank ; and 
a most despicable course of life, whether a man 
follows it by affecting similarities, or singularities ; 
only it is to be remembered, that the line of the 
similarities is the most common, and by far the 
most gainful. 

The only question of importance is, what 
evidence Sir James had of this criminal conduct? 
To men, known only as writers, the singularities 
which can with any pertinence be imputed, are 
their singularities as writers. And singulari- 
ties in a man's writings can only be of two sorts ; 



127 



singularities in the matter ; or singularities in the 
manner. In the matter, every author whose 
aim is to add to the stock of knowledge, makes 
it his utmost endeavour to obtain singularities ; 
and the more successful he is, the greater the 
honour to which he is entitled. Everv new idea, 
nay every improvement in the mode of expound- 
ing important ideas, is a singularity; but at the 
same time a benefit, which mankind have always 
treated, not as a vice, which the talk of Sir James 
would make it, but as a merit, entitled to the 
highest applause. 

If the matter of a book of philosophy be good, 
the manner is a thing of very inferior consequence. 
Besides, a manner may be very singular, without 
being very bad. Sir James might have known, 
if he had known any thing, that tliere never yet 
was a truly original thinker, who had not pecu- 
liarities of manner. What more singular, than 
the manner of Aristotle, or the manner of Plato ? 
Yet who ever thought of bringing manner as a 
charge against them ? Bacon is singular in 
manner, and Locke, and Montesquieu. Who 
more singular than Milton, even in poetry, where 
manner is of more importance ? And with what 
matchless effect ? 

There are singularities, no doubt, in Mr. Ben- 
tham's mode of writing. His anxiety to give his 
ideas with the utmost possible precision, induced 
him to do two things, for which he has met with 



1^8 



no mercy at the hands of the small critics ; first, 
to make his sentences complex, with qualifying 
clauses ; and secondly, to employ a new word, of 
his own making, when he did not find an old one 
suited to his purpose. But this does not hinder 
the writings of Mr. Bentham from abounding in 
beauties of expression, both exquisite and original. 
To the charge of affectation, or the desire of pro- 
ducing effect by manner instead of matter, the 
writings themselves give the most direct contra- 
diction. And of the men whom Sir James may 
be supposed to have included in the set who went 
to learn quacking at the abode of Mr. Bentham, 
to not one have the singularities of this writer, or 
any other singularities in the mode of writing, 
been ever imputed. When Sir James, therefore, 
laid the charge against them, that they pursued 
reputation by unworthy means, he had not even 
a shadow of evidence for what he affirmed. 

The next imputation is of a still more serious 
nature. Bentham, and his brood, were men. Sir 
James informs us, who " clung to opinions be- 
cause they were obnoxious." By clinging to an 
opinion, must be understood, I suppose, adhering 
to it strongly. But the men who can adhere 
strongly to an opinion, for any thing, but the 
truth of it, are not only not philosophers, but 
not honest men ; and, instead of approbation and 
honour, deserve nothing but the contempt and 
hatred of the world. The evidence, again, is 



129 



the point of importance. If such a charge is 
advanced without evidence, the man who is the 
author of it is not good for much. 

An obnoxious opinion means an offensive 
opinion ; that is, offensive to somebody. But that 
proves nothing against the opinion. So long as 
there are classes of men, who have interests 
adverse to the rest of the community, the most 
important opinions will be the most offensive to 
those, too frequently the most powerful, classes of 
the community. There is great virtue in putting 
forth opinions of that sort, and also, as Sir James 
expresses it, in clinging to them. But Sir James 
acts not the part of a friend to that kind of 
virtue, when he endeavours to throw upon it the 
obloquy of proceeding from a hateful motive, that 
of giving offence to other men. What ground 
had Sir James for imjputing to Mr. Bentham, or 
any of those whom he meant to class along with 
him, this criminal course of conduct ? Nay, the 
case is still worse. For against what power 
of evidence, that these men were distinguished in 
a peculiar manner by care to shew the foundation 
of their opinions, and to value opinions for 
nothing but the truth and importance of them, 
had he the impudence to assert that they adhered 
to them, because they were mischievous ? 

Sir James's malignity is still more glaringly 
displayed, in the next passage, where he says, 
Mr. Bentham, and those whom he classes with 

K 



ISO 



him, " incurred the vice of wounding the most 
respectable feelings of mankind." The feelings, 
which men most respect in others, are the feelings 
by which they are most strongly tied to the dis- 
charge of their duties. To put forth opinions 
which wound those feelings, must be to put forth 
opinions which outrage the principles of morality. 
Was Sir James so lost to all sense, not of mo- 
rality, but of shame, as to impute this to 
Mr. Bentham, and those who hold opinions ana- 
logous to his ? If not, what did he mean ? And 
what shade of guilt was it his honourable pur- 
pose to insinuate ? If there is any man alive 
who is bold enough to defend Sir James, let him 
shew a single opinion of Mr. Bentham, which 
tends to wound any feeling, that deserves to be 
respected, in any human being. Mr. Bentham 's 
opinions grew from one root ; viz., that the good 
of mankind is the obligatory principle. He em- 
ployed his whole life in applying that principle to 
the great branches of human interests ; to laws, 
to the construction of governments, to ecclesi- 
astical establishments, to education, and to mo- 
rality. In all these great departments he found, 
that the interests of the many had been habitually 
sacrificed to the interests of the few. In other 
words, vice, instead of virtue, had been the domi- 
nant power in the management of human affairs. 
To tear the veil from this mystery of iniquity, 
and to shew the many how they had been 



131 



treated, as was done with no sparing hand by 
Mr. Bentham, was sure to wound the feelings, 
whether respectable or not we have yet to in- 
quire, of those knots of the few, who grasped in 
their hands the several branches of the national 
interests, political, legal, and ecclesiastical ; and 
who viewed with rage the man who demonstrated 
the importance of protecting against them the 
interests of the greater number. These feelings 
Mr. Bentham wounded, and none other. He, and 
they who thought with him, regarded such feel- 
ings as interested attachments to things injurious 
to mankind, and, agreeably to their principles, 
decided that the good of mankind was the pre- 
ferable object. Sir James was one of those who 
take part with the knots, and desire to discredit 
those who stand up for mankind. 

Sir James's next imputation, too, is false, but 
frivolous. He says that these wounders of the 
feelings which attach the few to the plunder of 
the many, " regarded an immense display of 
method and nomenclature as a sure proof of a 
corresponding increase of knowledge." In the 
first place, they did not make any such display ; 
and in the next place, if they had shewn more 
than usual care of method and nomenclature, it 
would not have followed, that they regarded it as 
a sure proof of a corresponding increase of know- 
ledge. This is only abuse, as destitute of sense 
as of foundation. 

K 2 



1S2 



Sir James goes on. They, the same persons 
who took method and nomenclature for know- 
ledge, " considered themselves as a chosen few, 
whom an initiation into the most secret mysteries 
of philosophy, entitled to look down with pity, if 
not contempt, on the profane multitude." Sir 
J ames was a blunderer, in cunning, as well as 
philosophy. He knew there was nothing man- 
kind were more sure to repay with usury, than 
contempt. He, therefore, thought, that he could 
do nothing more effectual to prevent them from 
esteeming either Mr. Bentham, or those who 
held similar opinions, than by representing them 
as crazy with self-conceit. Here, as usual. Sir 
James disregarded evidence ; but he talked too 
much, and his talk betrays him. He says, that 
this board of quacks were puffed up, by consider- 
ing themselves initiated into the most secret mys- 
teries of philosophy. Sir James forgot, that the 
times we live in are two thousand years from the 
times when there were philosophers with secret 
mysteries, to which they admitted a chosen few. 
Mr. Bentham, at all events, printed and pub- 
lished all that he considered valuable in his 
thoughts ; and all the world knew, or might have 
known, as much about them as any of those who 
enjoyed his acquaintance. Sir James, therefore, 
was unguarded in telling us, that the heads of 
Mr. Bentham and his friends were turned by 
secret mysteries. Every thing in Mr. Bentham's 



133 



writings is the very reverse of mysterious. He 
aj)plies plain principles to things the existence of 
which is not denied ; and desires mankind to look 
and see what is good for them, and what is not. 
So far from trying to persuade the world that 
there is great difficulty in understanding what he 
teaches, Mr. Bentham is perpetually expressing 
his astonishment that men should have been so 
long unable to see their own interest. No ; the 
quality in Mr. Bentham, which Sir James would 
willingly degrade, by confounding it with self- 
conceit, was an attribute of a very different order ; 
that high moral courage, with which he announced 
opinions, when he knew them to be well founded, 
and of importance to mankind ; however they 
might be hated by those to whose interests they 
were opposed. A man like Sir James can hardly 
have an idea of this state of mind. The firmness 
of belief, grounded on evidence ; and the ardour 
of enunciation, inspired by the love of mankind, 
shew nothing to him but a man foolishly admiring 
himself, and underrating the rest of his species. 

The mode of viewing the operation of the 
sinister interests by Mr. Bentham, and Sir James, 
constituted a radical distinction between the men. 
To Mr. Bentham it appeared to the last degree 
odious ; Sir J ames was very indulgent, if not 
partial to it. Mr. Bentham always spoke of it in 
the language of indignation and scorn. This, in 
the eyes of Sir James, was highly reprehensible. 



134 



" To the unpopularity/' he says, " of his philo- 
sophical and political doctrines," meaning the dis- 
like of them by those of the sinister interest, 
whom he attacked, " he has added the more 
general and lasting obloquy which arises from an 
unseemly treatment of doctrines and principles 
which, if there were no other motives for reve- 
rential deference, even a regard to the feelings of 
the best men requires to be approached with 
decorum and respect." The " doctrines and 
principles," here spoken of, are the pleas made use 
of to support the sinister interest, in its inroads 
upon the good of mankind ; for no other doctrines 
or principles did Mr. Bentham ever mention with 
that strong reprobation, which Sir James here 
calls " unseemly treatment." The pleas and pre- 
texts, which the interested set up, to encourage 
and defend themselves in perpetrating mischief 
to the rest of mankind, ought, says Sir James, to 
be treated " with reverential deference ; " shewing 
well in what school he had learned his morality. 
And even, continues Sir James, if there were not 
other motives for this sort of devotional respect to 
the sinister interest, " a regard to the feelings of 
the best men requires that " its mischievous pleas 
and pretexts " should be approached with decorum 
and respect." Mr. Bentham's views were drawn 
from other sources. The pleas and pretexts, by 
which mischief was done to mankind, it was 
right, in his opinion, to teach the world to know 



135 



and detest, whoever the men might be, whose 
feelings were to be hurt by the endeavour. They 
could not, in his opinion, be the "best men," 
they could not be good men, whose feelings were 
engaged in favour of those who lived as the 
enemies of their species. 

So much for what Sir James's historical re- 
searches have enabled him to charge upon 
Mr. Bentham, and those whom it pleases him to 
treat as his accomplices. 

We now proceed to Sir James's account of the 
doctrines of Mr. Bentham. 

He begins with jurisprudence ; that is, the 
great field of Mr. Bentham's labours. What he 
did elsewhere was either auxiliary to those 
labours, or something which grew out of them* 
I am tempted to give the passage at length. 

" The great merit of this work, and of his 
other writings in relation to Jurisprudence pro- 
perly so called, is not within our present scope. 
To the Roman jurists belongs the praise of 
having allotted a separate portion of their Digest 
to the signification of the words of most frequent 
use in law and legal discussion. Bentham 
not only first perceived and taught the great 
value of an introductory section, composed of 
definitions of general terms, as subservient to 
brevity and precision in every part of a code, but 
he also discovered the unspeakable importance of 
natural arrangement in jurisprudence, by ren- 



136 



dering the mere place of a proposed law in such 
an arrangement a short and easy test of the fitness 
of the proposal. But here he does not distinguish 
between the value of arrangement as scaffolding, 
and the inferior convenience of its being the very 
frame-work of the structure. Mr. Bentham, in- 
deed, is much more remarkable for laying down 
desirable rules for the determination of rights, 
and the punishment of wrongs, in general, than 
for weighing the various circumstances which 
require them to be modified in different countries 
and times in order to render them either more 
useful, more easily introduced, more generally 
respected, or more certainly executed. The art 
of legislation consists in thus applying the prin- 
ciples of jurisprudence to the situation, wants, 
interests, feelings, opinions, and habits, of each 
distinct community at any given time. It bears 
the same relation to jurisprudence which the 
mechanical arts bear to pure Mathematics. Many 
of these considerations serve to shew, that the 
sudden establishment of new codes can seldom be 
practicable or effectual for their purpose; and 
that reformation, though founded on the prin- 
ciples of jurisprudence, ought to be not only 
adapted to the peculiar interests of a people, but 
engrafted on their previous usages, and brought 
into harmony with those national dispositions on 
which the execution of laws depends. The 
Romans under Justinian, adopted at least the 



137 



true principle, if they did not apply it with suffi- 
cient freedom and boldness. They considered 
the multitude of occasional laws, and the still 
greater mass of usages, opinions, and determina- 
tions, as the materials of legislation, not pre- 
cluding, but demanding a systematic arrangement 
of the whole by the supreme authority. Had 
the arrangement been more scientific, had there 
been a bolder examination and a more free 
reform of many particular branches, a model 
would have been offered for liberal imitation by 
modern lawgivers. It cannot be denied, with- 
out injustice and ingratitude, that Mr. Bentham 
has done more than any other writer to rouse the 
spirit of juridical reformation, which is now 
gradually examining every part of law, and, when 
further progress is facilitated by digesting the 
present laws, will doubtless proceed to the im- 
provement of all. Greater praise it is given to 
few to earn. It ought to satisfy Mr. Bentham, 
for the disappointment of hopes which were not 
reasonable, that Russia should receive a code 
from him, or that North America could be 
brought to renounce the variety of her laws and 
institutions, on the single authority of a foreign 
philosopher, whose opinions had not worked their 
way either into legislation or into general recep- 
tion in his own country. It ought also to dis- 
pose his followers to do fuller justice to the 
Romillys and Broughams, without whose pru- 



138 



dence and energy, as well as reason and elo- 
quence, the best plans of reformation must have 
continued a dead letter, — for whose sake it might 
have been fit to reconsider the obloquy heaped on 
their profession, and to shew more general indul- 
gence to all those whose chief offence seems to 
consist in their doubts whether sudden changes, 
almost always imposed by violence on a commu- 
nity, be the surest road to lasting improvement." 

Sir James ascribes to Mr. Bentham two " dis- 
coveries ;" First, the usefulness of definitions of 
general terms ; Secondly, the usefulness of a good 
arrangement. Assuredly, Mr. Bentham did not 
claim the merit of a discoverer, in regard to either 
of these two very useful things. It will be said, 
perhaps, that Sir James only meant the discovery 
of their usefulness, in jurisprudence. But it was 
no very great discovery, to find out that what 
was useful in every other department of thought, 
would be useful also in this. If he meant, that it 
was never seen before, not even by the crowds of 
persons, who, from generation to generation, had 
been manufacturing wealth and power to them- 
selves, out of their knowledge, or pretended 
knowledge of the subject, a curious state of intel- 
lectual capacity is imputed to them. 

On one point, the words of Sir James deserve 
looking at. Mr. Bentham "discovered the unspeak-. 
able importance of natural arrangement in juris- 
prudence." Very well. And then Sir James tells ' 



139 



us what he did it by. He did it, " by rendering 
the mere place of a proposed law in such an 
arrangement a short and easy test of the fitness 
of the proposal." The process is curious. Mr. 
Bentham, first of all, made the good arrangement, 
for he could not make a place in it till he had it. 
He had it, however, without yet knowing whether 
it was good for any thing or not. To arrive at 
that knowledge, it was necessary to put a pro- 
posed law in it, in its proper place ; to make that 
place the test of the goodness or badness of the 
law ; and when the law was so tested, Mr. Ben- 
tham saw, and not before, that a good arrange- 
ment was a good thing. Sir James does not tell 
us, in what way, the chapter and section, in which 
such or such a law would be inserted in a well- 
made code, would shew its goodness or badness, 
and no man that lives, or ever will live, will do 
it for him. 

Mr. Bentham's knowledge of a good arrange- 
ment, after he had made it, and after he had 
discovered (which was a subsequent operation) 
the unspeakable importance of it, was still very 
imperfect. He did not distinguish between the 
value of arrangement as scaffolding, and the infe- 
rior convenience of its being the very frame-work 
of the structure." A man accustomed to hear 
words used with ideas annexed to them, is con- 
founded, when he listens to such a volley as this. 
What notion of arrangement could Sir James 



140 



have had in his head, when he called it scaffold- 
ing ? The scaffolding is something extraneous to 
the building. The arrangement is the putting 
every part of the materials, every brick, every 
beam, every plank, every nail, in its proper place. 
The arrangement, however, in Sir James's notion, 
is not the scaffolding merely ; it is both the scaf- 
folding, and the frame-work of the building. Is 
not this sufficiently marvellous ? And Mr. Ben- 
tham is blamed for not knowing that its utility as 
frame-work is less considerable than its utility as 
scaffolding. I dare be sworn that Mr. Bentham 
never contemplated it in either light. 

So much for Mr. Bentham 's merits, and de- 
merits, in the work of arrangement. Sir James 
next proceeds to the beaten topic of theory and 
practice ; and tells us, of Mr. Bentham, what the 
blockheads are so fond of saying, of the men who 
think ; that he was theoretical, rather than prac- 
tical. Sir James thus delivers himself of the usual 
prattle. " Mr. Bentham, indeed, is much more 
remarkable for laying down desirable rules for the 
determination of rights, and the punishment of 
wrongs in general, than for weighing the various 
circumstances which require them to be modified 
in different countries and times, in order to render 
them either more useful, more easily introduced, 
more generally respected, or more certainly exe- 
cuted." These few lines display, what poor, 
inadequate, ideas were in the head of Sir James, 



141 



upon the subject of jurisprudence. He says, that 
Mr. Bentham, being a theoretical jurist, was most 
strong in laying down rules for the determination 
of rights, and the punishment of crimes in gene- 
ral. He did not see that this is not the business 
of jurisprudence at all. Sir James was ignorant 
of the import of the words he used. There are 
no rules in general ; all rules are rules in par- 
ticular ; they are directions for the performance 
of acts one by one. The arithmetical rule of 
three, though it applies equally to an infinite 
number of cases, applies to them individually. 

Sir James confounds jurisprudence and legis- 
lation. The business of jurisprudence, is exposi- 
tion ; the business of legislation, is prospective 
command. The jurist investigates the true ends 
of law ; and explains the system of operations or 
means, by which these objects may be the most 
perfectly obtained. These are the great subjects 
on which the powers of Mr. Bentham's mind 
were habitually employed ; not in making rules 
in general for the determination of rights ; rules 
in general for the punishment of wrongs. Such 
combinations of words are mere jargon. 

This is Sir James's account of what Mr. Ben- 
tham could do : next follows his account of what 
he could not do. He could not weigh the cir- 
cumstances to which laws are to be accommodated. 
Question. — How did Sir James know ? Answer. 
— He did not know. Question. — How, then, 



142 



came he to say so ? Answer. — By the bad habit 
of asserting what made for the present purpose, 
whether he knew it to be so or not. 

Had Sir James any instance he could shew of 
a law proposed by Mr. Bentham for any of Sir 
James's " different countries and times," and 
which was at variance with any of " the various 
circumstances which require laws to be modified 
in order to make them either more useful, more 
easily introduced, more generally respected, or 
more certainly executed ?" He had not. But he 
had before him another thing, of which it did 
not suit him to take any notice ; evidence that 
Mr. Bentham considered attention to the circum- 
stances which distinguish any people for whom 
a particular code is designed, as essential, and of 
primary importance. 

There are two sets of circumstances, to which 
it is necessary to attend in the making of laws. 
There are circumstances, which all nations have 
in common. There are other circumstances, 
which each nation has peculiar to itself. The 
first set of circumstances, those which nations 
have in common ; at least, nations which are nearly 
on the same level in point of civilization ; are 
beyond comparison the most important ; and were 
laws well adapted to them, the modifications 
required for the particular circumstances of each 
particular country, would not be very great. But 
here is the curious thing, in the theory of those 



143 



who prate like Sir James. The men, they say, 
who alone are capable of attending to the general 
circumstances ; the more numerous, and the more 
important ; of understanding them, and making 
provision for them, are utterly incapable of under- 
standing and making provision for the peculiar, 
far less numxcrous and less important, circum- 
stances, which are found in particular communi- 
ties. Why should they? Has it ever been 
shewn, that there are any of those circumstances 
which cannot be made known to these men, when 
they have occasion to know them? that there is 
any of them, the import of which they cannot 
comprehend? or for which, when so compre- 
hended, they are unable to perceive the provision 
which should be made ? The very reverse of all 
this is the truth. The only men who can appre- 
ciate the circumstances which are accidental to 
this or that particular people, are the men who 
best understand that far more important part of 
the circumstances constituting their condition, 
which they have in common with the men of 
other communities. The operation of the minor 
circumstances can only be judged of by knowing 
the bearing upon them of the fundamental, and 
the predominant. But how can that be known 
to them to whom the circumstances themselves 
are unknown, to whom they have never been 
objects of study, hardly of a casual regard? 
Accordingly, we see what work is made by the 



144 



men called practical, when they have to construct 
laws for another country than their own. They 
utterly neglect both sets of circumstances, both 
those which the country in question has in com- 
mon with other countries, and those which are 
peculiar to itself. They transplant bodily the 
laws of their own country, as if this were the 
best provision which could be made for a country, 
the circumstances of which may differ in any 
degree. 

Sir James then goes on to inform us, wherein 
the " art of legislation consists." It consists in 
applying principles to circumstances. It applies 
the principles of jurisprudence to the circum- 
stances of a people. This is stale talk, which 
gives no information, and proves the utmost 
poverty of ideas. What does Sir James take the 
principles of jurisprudence to be? Does he sup- 
pose, that they are a parcel of theorems, embody- 
ing abstract truth ? Such as the theorem, that 
things equal to the same thing are equal to one 
another? One would imagine that this is what 
he does suppose, by what he says about the 
resemblance of the principles of jurisprudence 
to pure mathematics. But if this be what he 
understands by the principles of jurisprudence, 
jurisprudence has no such principles ; and his 
definition of the art of legislation, therefore, is, 
that it applies nothing to something ; viz. to the 
circumstances of a people. 



145 



The business of jurisprudence is not to lay 
down theorems ; but to trace, and expound, the 
means adapted to a certain end. That end, to 
denote it the most generally, is the protection 
of rights. Jurisprudence, then, investigates the 
means which are best for the protection of rights. 
It does not determine what ought to be rights, 
and what ought not ; or what is that distribution 
of powers, which is most conducive to the hap- 
piness of mankind upon the whole. That belongs 
to the science of legislation, wholly distinct from 
that of jurisprudence; though Sir James, in his 
plenitude of knowledge, appears to have con- 
founded the two. 

Nations have not been uniform in the constitu- 
tion of rights. Rights have been constituted in 
some countries, which have not been constituted 
in others. It is, however, remarkable to what 
an extent uniformity prevails. There is wonder- 
ful similarity, in all that is most important in 
rights, between what is constituted in one country 
and another, e-^^en under great differences in point 
of civilization, and other circumstances. 

Rights, jurisprudence takes as it finds them ; 
and then inquires by what means they can best 
be secured. By its investigations it has esta- 
blished, that for this security it is necessary, first, 
that rights should be accurately defined; secondly, 
that such acts as would impair or destroy them, 
should be prevented by punishment ; thirdly, that 



146 



men should be appointed to determine all ques- 
tions relating to rights, and the violation of them ; 
fourthly, that the trust vested in each, and the 
mode of exercising it, should be according to cer- 
tain principles, and fixed by rules. Definition of 
rights, punishment for wrongs, constitution of 
tribunals, mode of procedure in the tribunals, are 
the heads under which all the objects of jurispru- 
dence are arranged. What does Sir James mean 
by applying these to circumstances ? The defini- 
tion of rights is the definition of rights, under all 
circumstances ; the punishing of crime, or the 
creation of artificial motives to abstain from cer- 
tain acts, is of the same nature, under all circum^ 
stances ; the deciding of differences by third 
parties, is equally necessary under all circum- 
stances; and the best mode of proceeding, in 
order to get at the truth in the disputed case, is 
the same under all circumstances. What, in 
truth, is all this, but a skilful use of circumstances 
to the attainment of a great end ; an end common 
to all nations, by use, mostly, of the circumstances 
common to all nations; modified, to be sure, where 
need is, by the circumstances peculiar to each. 
The phrase, principles of jurisprudence, then, in 
any correct sense of the word, means the skilful 
adaptation of circumstances to a particular end. 
But what can Sir James mean by telling us, that 
the art of legislation consists in applying the use 
of circumstances to circumstances? 



147 



Sir James favours us with another choice re- 
mark on the subject of jurisprudence. His words 
are, " Many of these considerations," the in- 
structive ones we have been just examining, 
" serve to shew that the sudden establishment of 
new codes can seldom be practicable or effectual 
for their purpose ; and that reformations, though 
founded on the principles of jurisprudence, ought 
to be not only adapted to the peculiar interests of 
a people, but engrafted on their previous usages, 
and brought into harmony with those national 
dispositions on which the execution of laws de- 
pends." — This is the slang of those who are the 
enemies of all reform. This serves for a while, 
after the language of direct adherence to what is 
contrary to reason can no longer be held. Your 
reform is a good reform, a code is a good thing ; 
but the " sudden establishment " of it is bad ; 
therefore wait a while ; and as the argument is 
equally good at all succeeding times, it is an 
argument for everlasting postponement. 

What meaning had Sir James, when he talked 
of " new codes?" A code is the expression, in 
written characters, of the rights, existing in some 
country, for the purpose of making them certainly 
and easily known. If a book, containing that 
expression, were once made; and that, though 
difficult, is not impracticable; where is there any 
impracticability whatsoever in the use of it ? 
The use of it would be to render every thing easier. 

L 2 



148 



Sir James had a jumble in his head of an 
alteration of rights, along with a definition of 
rights. There are much more serious objections 
to an alteration of rights, than are contained in 
Sir James's words " impracticable," and " in- 
effectual for their purpose." But these are no 
concern of those who do not propose by their 
codes to make any alteration of rights. 

Sir James says, that his foregoing considera- 
tions tell us another thing ; that the reforms 
intended for a people, should not only be good for 
the people, but seen by them to be so ; for if, in 
consequence of previous habits, they should be- 
lieve them to be injurious, they will impede 
their operation. " These considerations serve 
to shew," he says, " that reformations, though 
founded on the principles of jurisprudence, ought 
to be not only adapted to the peculiar interests of 
a people, but engrafted on their previous usages, 
and brought into harmony with those national dis- 
positions on which the execution of laws depends," 

" Peculiar interests of a people." Did Sir 
James know any interests of a people which are 
not peculiar ? And if he did, was it his opinion 
that reformations did not need to be adapted to 
that portion of a people's interests ? 

As it may always be alledged that a people's 
" usages " and " dispositions " are adverse to the 
reforms which any body has his reasons for dis- 
liking, this is a standing argument against all 



149 



reform; though it is easily seen to be utterly 
worthless for that purpose ; because if any man 
says, that such or such a measure is good for the 
people, but the people do not see that it is good 
for them, there is only one honest course open to 
him, and that is, immediately to set about in- 
structing them. If any thing is really good for 
the people, it is rarely indeed a very difficult 
matter to make them see that it is so. The only 
difficulty is with that class of persons who see, 
that whether good or not for the people, it will 
not be good for them ; who therefore do all they 
can to misguide the people ; and as long as they 
have power and influence are never without such 
folks as Sir James to aid and abet them. 

The mistakes of the people, regarding their 
own interest, may commonly be rectified, where 
much influence and artifice are not employed to 
delude them. What is wanted, therefore, is, to 
unmask the influence, and detect the artifice. 
Because Mr. Bentham did this, with the per- 
severance and power, which all acknowledge, he 
brought upon himself the obloquy which we have 
found Sir James so eager to repeat, and to con- 
firm, by all the weight of his authority; — which, 
however, by the time we have done with him, 
will not, I imagine, go for much. 

Besides, the observation is extraneous to the 
present purpose; for what is there, in the law 
reforms which jurisprudence recommends, that 



150 



can be ill-adapted to the " previous usages," and 
national dispositions/' of any people ? No 
people can be unwilling that their rights, which 
are rights only so far as known, should be 
accurately made known. No man who needs 
redress of wrongs can be sorry to see a fit person 
appointed, near his door, to afford him that re- 
dress. No man who desires decision according to 
the truth can be unwilling that such a course of 
inquiry should be prescribed, as leads to it with 
most certainty, and least expense. No man who 
desires security against wrong decision, but must 
be pleased to have the power of calling, at little 
or no expense, for a review of the decision of 
which he complains, by another and a higher 
tribunal. What then could be Sir James's 
motive for prating to us about the necessity of 
adapting these operations " to the peculiar in- 
terests of a people; engrafting them on their 
previous usages ; and bringing them into harmony 
with those national dispositions on which the ex- 
ecution of laws depends ? " 

The last thing Sir James tells us of Mr. Ben- 
tham's labours in jurisprudence is, that he 
" roused the spirit of juridical reformation." Sir 
James says that this deserves great praise. And 
I shall tell how it was done. It was, by laying 
bare to public view the deformities of the existing 
system ; and covering with shame the artifices 
by which sinister interest had so long protected 



151 



them. And for doing this Sir James catches 
eagerly every opportunity of loading him with 
reproaches. It is for this, that he, and they 
whom it suits Sir James to associate with him, 
are held forth to the world as fools and knaves, 
deluding themselves with ideas of their own con- 
sequence, and seeking to impose upon the world 
by false pretences. 

As an instance of this self-delusion in Mr. Ben- 
tham. Sir James says, that he actually entertained 
hopes that Russia would receive a code from him, 
and that North America would renounce " the 
variety of her laws and institutions," on his 
single authority. This is a very gross misrepre- 
sentation. In consequence of correspondence 
with men of influence in both countries, on the 
subject of a reform of their laws, Mr. Bentham 
was induced to say to both of them, if you really 
design to reform your laws, and think that I can 
be of use to you in the undertaking, I must tell 
you the way in which to me it appears that my 
labours can be rendered most advantageous to 
you. It is in making for you the draught of a 
code. This I will do, upon your invitation, 
without pay or reward, and without any other 
condition, than that you shall print and publish 
it ; after which, you shall make whatever use of 
it may to you seem meet. In the simplicity of 
his heart Mr. Bentham believed that there could 
be no harm in making this proposal to the go- 



152 



vernments themselves, little thinking of those 
whom Sir James knew he would delight by re- 
presenting it as a ludicrous and contemptible 
instance of over-grown vanitj'' and conceit. 

Mr. Bentham's merit in rousing the sj^irit of 
law reform, Sir James says, ought to have done 
two things. It ought to have consoled him for 
the disappointment of his ridiculous hopes. And 
" it ought to have disposed his followers to do 
fuller justice to the Romillys and Broughams." 
That his followers, and all other men, ought to do 
justice to the Romillys and Broughams, is most 
certain. But it is not so easy to see how the 
merit of Mr. Bentham should be a reason for 
it? Wherein, moreover, have those whom he 
most probably intends to mark by the name of 
followers of Mr. Bentham, failed in doing justice 
to the Romillys and the Broughams ? Sir James 
does not tell us any thing those two reformers 
had done which remained without due acknow- 
ledgement. With respect to them, he, according 
to custom, uses vague, eulogistic terms; " prudence 
and energy" — " reason and eloquence." And 
then he gives us this valuable remark, that 
without the prudence and energy, the reason and 
eloquence, of these two individuals, " the best 
plans of reformation must have remained a dead 
letter." How little did Sir James know about 
the matter ! The question, whether law was to 
be reformed or not reformed, did not depend, 



thank God ! upon the existence of any two men 
whatsoever. Law would have been reformed had 
these men never been born. They had the merit 
of being the first men of station in this country 
who caught the spirit of law reform ; and one of 
them has lived to render it signal service. But 
if they had not, others most assuredly would. 
The fulness of time was come. The harvest was 
ripe for the sickle, and there would not have been 
wanting men to put it in. 

Even here. Sir James must return to his 
favourite pastime of abusing Mr. Bentham, for 
having covered with shame the efforts of the 
sinister interest to uphold profitable abuses. The 
merit of the Romillys and Broughams ought 
to have had two effects ; it ought to have pro- 
cured praise, the Lord knows how much, to the 
Romillys and Broughams ; and it ought to have 
saved from blame all those who had laboured in 
the opposite direction, viz., to do evil and prevent 
good. The sinister interest, and its operation, 
the cause of the worst evils which have afl[licted 
mankind. Sir James tells us are only " doubts, 
whether sudden changes, almost always imposed 
by violence on a community, be the surest road to 
lasting improvement." This is a curious ex- 
hibition. The man who exposes the cruel opera- 
tion of the sinister interest, is held up in the 
light of a man proposing sudden changes im- 
posed by violence ; and those who are the authors 



154 



of that cruel operation are only men who doubt 
whether sudden changes, imposed by violence, are 
the surest road to lasting improvement. The 
sinister interest, according to Sir James, is your 
only true lover of the lasting improvement. 
Reform is only safe in the hands of those who 
have an interest in preventing it. The in- 
sinuation with respect to Mr. Bentham marks 
indelibly the character of Sir James. When did 
Mr. Bentham recommend any sudden change, 
importing the need of violence to impose it on a 
community? 

Such is the information relative to the great 
business of Mr. Bentham's life, jurisprudence, 
which Sir James found himself competent to im- 
part to us. Yet Sir James, once in his life, was a 
teacher. Lord guide us ! of jurisprudence; and we 
possess, left behind him, his introductory dis- 
course. Dr. Beattie says, somewhere, of Boling- 
broke's " Idea of a Patriot King," that it is 
vox et prceterea 7iihil, But it is a discourse 
loaded with matter compared with this of Sir 
James. 

Sir James now comes to give his account of 
what is ethical in the writings of Mr. Bentham. 
In this part, it is necessary, in order to answer 
any useful purpose, to be minute with Sir James. 
And as Sir James is a man of many words, and 
few ideas, the being minute with him is being 
minute with his words. Nothing can hinder this 



155 



from being tedious ; but I hope to make it 
apparent that it is useful. 

" It is unfortunate," says Sir James, " that 
ethical theory, with which we are now chiefly 
concerned, is not the province in which Mr. Ben- 
tham has reached the most desirable distinction.'* 
It is probable that Sir James meant here to cast 
an injurious reflection. It is said of a man that 
he has not reached the most desirable distinction, 
when he is distinguished for something bad. If 
Sir James meant only that Mr. Bentham had not 
reached the highest distinction, in ethical science, 
that is, in a science in which he had never tried to 
reach any, having only touched upon it, as a pre- 
liminary to jurisprudence, and no further than 
was necessary to that end, the observation is 
nugatory. 

Sir James next tells us, with an air of discovery, 
that the master of a school generally does much 
to give a character to the school. Who else 
should ? He also says, that Mr. Bentham thought 
himself the discoverer of the principle of utility. 
This is worth mentioning only as a specimen of 
what Sir James was about, when he was thinking. 
But now we come to the first of his philosophical 
objections. " That," he says, " in which Mr. 
Bentham really differs from others is in the 
necessity which he teaches, and the example which 
he sets, of constantly bringing that principle before 
us." This is not true. Mr. Bentham says no 



156 



more about the necessity of looking to his prin- 
ciple, than every other philosopher says about the 
necessity of looking to his. 

However, Sir James says, "this peculiarity 
appears to us to be his radical error." If he 
means, that taking utility for the principle of 
morality is his radical error, we can understand 
him. He dissents from this doctrine, and that is 
all. But if he means, that Mr. Bentham differed 
from other philosophers in this, ^that he taught 
the necessity of looking to the principle of morality, 
and they did not, this is not true ; and would be 
a distinction singularly in favour of Mr. Bentham, 
if it were. Every philosopher teaches the neces- 
sity of bringing perpetually before us what he 
deems the principle of morality ; right reason, 
one ; the will of God, another ; and so on. Mr. 
Bentham does the same ; and not more than they 
do. — Sir James concludes thus his account of this 
error. " In an attempt, of which the constitution 
of human nature forbids the success," (namely, 
bringing the principle of morality continually 
before us), " he seems to us to have been led into 
fundamental errors in moral theory, and to have 
given to his practical doctrine a dangerous taint." 
Observe the connection of this talk. Sir James 
first tells us, the bringing the principle of morality 
continually before us, is Mr. Bentham's radical 
error. He now says, — in this error, Mr. Bentham 
falls into fundamental errors. He falls into 



157 



fundamental errors, in his radical error. And 
this curious case of falling, on the part of Mr. 
Bentham, viz., his recommending, along with all 
other philosophers, a vigilant attention to the 
principle of morality, gives a dangerous taint to 
his practical doctrine. Does it, indeed ? The 
thing cannot be done, says Sir James. That is, 
no man is perfectly true to the principle of 
morality ; every man is guilty of deviations. But 
is that a reason why every man should not be 
taught to be true to it ? Sir James's practical 
doctrine, at least, seems to have a very dangerous 
taint in it. 

Sir James has another paragraph, long and 
intricate, which seems to be intended for an illus- 
tration of this error of Mr. Bentham. 

The necessity of constantly bringing the prin- 
ciple of utility," by which Mr. Bentham under- 
stands the principle of morality, " perpetually 
before us," is now called, making " utility the 
chief motive of human conduct." 

Does Sir J ames mean to deny that the principle 
of morality is the rightful guide and controller of 
human conduct ? Does he mean to affirm, that 
when a man clearly determines that it is right for 
him to do such a thing, wrong to do such another 
thing, a motive may exist, entitled to overbear the 
obligation of morality ? If so, what becomes of 
all that noisy talk we had about Butler's " disco- 
very ; " that conscience alone is entitled to com- 



15S 

mand ? Is Butler to be praised, Bentham abused, 
for one and the same thing ? Conscience com- 
manding, is only another name for acting accord- 
ing to the principle of morality ; but how can a 
man be said to act according to a principle, if he 
does not bring it before him. 

Sir James is at great pains with this principle 
of his, that the principle of morality is not the 
chief motive of human conduct. He says, " the 
confusion of moral approbation with the moral 
qualities which are its objects, already mentioned 
at the opening of this dissertation, has led Mr. 
Bentham to assume, that because the principle of 
utility forms a necessary part of every moral 
theory, it ought therefore to be the chief motive 
of human conduct." We have here a reference to 
that charge against Bentham and Paley, which 
we formerly considered, and shewed to be about 
the strangest thing that ever dropped from a pen. 
This confusion, which Bentham never committed, 
i. e. a nothing, a thing without existence, led 
Mr. Bentham to draw a conclusion. What con- 
clusion ? "Why this ; — " the principle of utility 
forms a necessary part of every moral theory, 
therefore it ought to be the chief motive of human 
conduct." Now to the fact. Mr. Bentham never 
drew such a conclusion in his life. He never 
said, or dreamed of saying, that any thing's being 
a part of a moral theory, constituted it necessarily 
the chief motive of human conduct. In fact he 



159 



never said, that the principle of morality was ia 
motive at all. He knew better the meaning of 
the word. His doctrine of motives was, that 
neither morality nor immorality belongs to mo- 
tives, but to a different part of the mental process. 

Sir James lays down his own doctrine, as if in 
refutation of Mr. Bentham. " A theory founded 
on utility requires that we should cultivate, as 
excitements to practice, those other habitual dis- 
positions, which we know by experience to be 
generally the source of actions beneficial to our- 
selves and our fellows ; habits of feeling produc- 
tive of habits of virtuous conduct, and in them 
more strengthened by the re-action of these last." 

We have occasion, first, for a little verbal cri- 
ticism. Dispositions are made by cultivation. 
Sir James says, the habitual dispositions, that is, 
dispositions with respect to which there is no 
longer need of cultivation, should be cultivated. 
He does not mean this ; but it shews how little 
capable he was of expressing a meaning. 

The doctrine is, that there are dispositions 
auxiliary to virtue, and that they ought to be 
cultivated. This is a truth which no man who 
ever reflected upon these things was ignorant of, 
and which no man in the world ever denied. 
What was the "disposition" of Sir James when 
he gave it to be understood that Mr. Bentham 
had either denied it, or overlooked it ? 

We pick up, as we go on, that the feelings he 



160 



speaks of are the social affections, felt with the 
utmost warmth." He then tells us something 
about social affections. They "give birth to 
more comprehensive benevolence." That is to 
say, the love of J ohn, and of Kate, gives birth to 
the love of a whole parish. But the social affec- 
tions, when they give birth to the more compre- 
hensive benevolence, " are not supplanted by it." 
That is to say, the love of Kate and of John, 
when it has begotten the love of the parish, 
remains the love of Kate and of John all the 
same. Further, when the social affections are 
felt with the utmost warmth, " the moral senti- 
ments most strongly approve what is right and 
good." This is rather puzzling. Does it mean, 
that when the love of John and of Kate is felt 
with the utmost warmth, the moral sentiments 
most strongly approve a reform of the law, for 
example, which is undoubtedly right and good ; 
one of the most right and good of all possible 
things ? Again, the moral sentiments, under the 
love of John and Kate, are not perplexed by a 
calculation of consequences." Here Sir James 
gets hold of the hack argument against the prin- 
ciple of utility. It requires calculation, and men 
are not good at calculating. Is action to be 
always suspended, till calculation is performed ? 

The shallowness, evinced by this talk, is asto- 
nishing; and yet it has been held by men of 
considerable name. Is it possible to avoid per- 



161 



ceiving, at a glance, that it utterly subverts 
morality ? 

Mr. Bentham demonstrated that the morality 
of an act does not depend upon the motive. The 
same motive may give birth to acts which are of 
the most opposite nature. The man who earns 
five shillings by his day's labour, and the man 
who robs him of it as he is returning at night to 
his home, both act from the same motive, the 
desire of obtaining a few shillings. 

Mr. Bentham further demonstrated, that the 
morality of an act is altogether dependant on the 
intention. One man fires a gun at a partridge, 
and kills it ; another man fires a gun at a par- 
tridge, but kills his brother. If care was not 
wanting to ascertain whether any person was 
exposed, the latter act, notwithstanding its fatal 
consequences, was as void of guilt as the former. 

The intention has a reference exclusively to the 
consequences of the act. When a man performs 
an act, he is said to intend the consequences of it, 
those at least which he foresees. He induces, for 
example, a married woman to yield to his impure 
desires, aware of the ruin which it is calculated to 
bring upon herself, and the sufferings which it 
may inflict on her children and husband. These 
consequences, as far as foreseen, or capable of 
being foreseen, he is said to intend. 

Sir James's talk implies, that he committed the 
miserable blunder of confounding motive, and 

M 



162 



intention. Let us attend a little to this point. 
The motive regards one, or a few, of the conse- 
quences of the act ; the intention regards them 
all. In the case above stated, the pleasure to the 
seducer is the motive to the seduction, and is one 
consequence of the act; the intention includes 
both that and its other consequences. These 
consequences in this case evidently divide them- 
selves into two sorts ; the one sort, pleasurable, 
viz. to the author of the act ; the other, painful, 
viz. to other persons. 

When the consequences of the act are pleasura- 
ble to other persons, as well as to the actor, the 
case, is simple ; the intention has in it nothing but 
what is good. "When, however, among the conse- 
quences of the act, some are hurtful to others, con- 
sideration is required. If they are hurtful to 
others to a certain degree, and pleasurable to the 
actor in a less degree, the conclusion of all men is, 
that it is wrong, immoral, to perform the act. 
The question, ought, or ought not, the act to be 
performed, is evidently a question of comparison. 
There is a certain amount of good on the one 
side ; a certain amount of evil on the other : 
which preponderates ? If a man intends by any 
act a greater amount of evil than of good, his 
intention is bad ; his conduct criminal. Morality, 
or immorality, therefore, depends, by the very 
nature of the case, upon calculation. A man 
cannot act without intention, without looking at 



163 



the consequences of his act. If he looks imper- 
fectly at them ; that is, takes not the necessary- 
pains to ascertain the evil, which the act may do 
to others, and nevertheless performs it, he is cri- 
minal vrith regard to all the consequences which 
he might have foreseen. An intention therefore 
is good or bad, according as the good or evil con- 
sequences of the act predominate. This is ascer- 
tained by calculation. 

The calculation is, no doubt, in many cases, 
easy ; the preponderance of good, or of evil, being 
such, that no man can be at a loss about it. The 
greater number of cases, also, are classified ; and 
placed under general rules, universally recognized ; 
so that a man acts upon them, as pre-established 
decisions, which he may trust. Such are the 
rules of prudence, of temperance, of justice, of 
fortitude. The acts to which these names are 
clearly applicable, are acts the good consequences 
of which are recognized as greatly overbalancing 
the bad. A man feels himself exempted from the 
obligation of calculating in such cases, because the 
calculation has already been made. 

It is of importance, that the learner should 
familiarize to himself this fundamental truth ; 
though it is almost in fact an identical proposi- 
tion. Without an immoral intention there is no 
immoral act. An intention is immoral in two 
cases; first, when a man acts with a foreknow- 
ledge of the preponderance of evil consequences ; 

M 2! 



164 



secondly, when he acts without inquiring, that is, 
without caring, whether there will be a prepon- 
derance of evil consequences or not. The goodness 
or badness of an act is the goodness or badness of 
the intention. The goodness or badness of the 
intention is the superiority of good over evil, or 
evil over good, in the consequences of the act 
performed ; a superiority ascertained by calcula- 
tion, either made by the individual, or presumed » 
to be correctly expressed in a general rule. The 
men, therefore, philosophers they ought not to be 
called, who preach a morality without calculation, 
take away morality altogether ; because morality 
is an attribute of intention ; and an intention is 
then only good when the act intended has in the 
sum of its ascertainable consequences a superiority 
of good over evil. Take away calculation, you 
take away the goodness or badness of intention, 
and without goodness of intention there is no 
morality. Where there is no calculation, there- 
fore, there is no morality; in fact, there is nothing 
rational, any more than moral. To act, without 
regard to consequences, is the property of an 
irrational nature. But to act without calculation 
is to act without a regard to consequences. The 
best morality, says Sir James, is to act without 
regard to consequences. It is fortunate that Sir 
James's instructions are not calculated to have 
much effect. 

When the moral sentiments " act " without 



165 



the calculation of consequences, they are not inca- 
pable of being gradually rectified by reason ; " 
that is to say, when they go wrong for want of 
calculation, they are capable of being set right by 
calculation. Sir James adds, " whenever they are 
decisively proved by experience not to corresj)ond in 
some of their parts to the universal and perpetual 
effects of conduct." Is not this precious jargon ? 

"Some of their parts;" some of the parts of 
the moral sentiments. Do the moral sentiments 
then consist of parts ? 

" When the moral sentiments do not correspond 
to the effects of conduct." What is meant by the 
moral sentiments not corresponding to the effects 
of conduct? The "effects of conduct" mean^ I 
suppose, the consequences of acts, good or evil, as 
we have been speaking of them above. AMien 
Sir James then says, that the moral sentiments do 
not always correspond with the effects of conduct, 
he means that they do not correspond with the dis- 
tinction between good and evil, in the consequences 
of acts ; that is, approve of acts which produce a 
preponderance of evil, disapprove of acts which 
produce a preponderance of good. No wonder 
they commit such blunders, if they decide accord- 
ing to the warm affections, without calculation. 
But when this happens, Sir James says, there is a 
remedy ; these moral sentiments, which blunder so, 
may be set right by that which, according to Sir 
James, would have set them wrong, calculation. 



166 



" Reason," Sir James here calls it, by a tie 
sleight of hand. But " reason," in ascertaining the 
balance of two amounts, the amount of evil con- 
sequences, and the amount of good, is honest, dry 
calculation, and nothing else, whatever Sir James 
may think. 

Sir James, however, in these words, admits, 
that the moral sentiments ought to " correspond 
with the effects of conduct," and that calculation 
is that alone which can make them do so. Yet 
he tells us that calculation is that which disgraces 
the principle of utility. What a Sir James ! 

" Universal and perpetual effects of conduct," 
is the expression of Sir James ; and is worth re- 
marking, to shew Sir James's skill in expressing 
his own meaning. By " effects of conduct," he 
can mean nothing but consequences of acts. But 
what is meant by " universal and perpetual" 
consequences of acts ? This can relate to nothing 
but constancy of sequence, and means the conse- 
quences which are not accidental. But it is not 
true, that the moral sentiments regard only the 
invariable consequences of acts. The accidental 
consequences, when they can be foreseen, de- 
serve as much attention, as the invariable ; only 
it more frequently happens that they cannot be 
foreseen. 

Sir James enforces his argument against calcu- 
lation, which he seems to have it greatly at heart 
to decry, by saying, " It is a false representation 



167 



of human nature to affirm that courage is only 
prudence ; " and he quotes Mr. Mill, as the author 
of that affirmation. He explains what he sup- 
poses Mr. Mill to mean, by saying, " a man who 
fights because he thinks it more hazardous to 
yield is not brave." Sir James says, Mr. Mill has 
made "a false representation of human nature ;" 
Sir James makes ** a false representation" of 
Mr. Mill, That comjmtatio, or o-uAAoyKr^o? ; that 
thinking together^ of the effects, good and bad, of 
an act, which I have just described as essential to 
a moral intention, that is, a moral act, is not 
expressed, in the case of an act of courage, by 
the phrase " more hazardous to yield than to 
fight ; " any more than it would be, in the case 
supposed above, of the man seducing the woman, 
by the phrase, more safe to abstain than to go on. 
This is not the main part of the consideration, 
as it is put by Mr. Mill. 

Mr. Mill had shewn, in what way our ideas of 
pains and pleasures, and our ideas of the causes 
of them, combined into complex ideas by associa- 
tion, constitute the various affections of our 
nature, that is, the pleasurable and painful states, 
other than sensations, of which we are conscious. 
He had shewn, that in many of these combina- 
tions the idea of the cause of the pleasure or 
pleasures, of the pain or pains, so predominated 
in the compound, as to obscure, or even render 
imperceptible, the idea of the pleasures or pains 



168 



themselves. This explanation will enable the 
reader to understand the following quotations 
from Mr. Mill, which are necessary to shew, in 
what way Sir James deals with those authors, 
whom it is his object to defame. 

" We have already remarked," says Mr. Mill, 
" that of all the causes of our pleasures and pains, 
none are to be compared, in point of importance, 
with the actions of ourselves and our fellow- 
creatures. From this class of causes, a far 
greater amount of pleasures and pains proceed, > 
than from all other causes taken together. It 
follows that these causes are objects of intense 
affection to us ; either favourable, if they are the 
cause of pleasure, or unfavourable, if they are the 
cause of pain. 

" The actions from which men derive advantage 
have all been classed under four titles ; prudence, 
fortitude, justice, beneficence. 

" We apply the names, prudent, brave, just, 
beneficent, both to our own acts, and to the acts 
of other men. 

" When these names are applied to our own 
acts, the first two, prudent and brave, express acts 
which are useful to ourselves in the first instance ; 
the latter two, justice, and beneficence, express 
acts which are useful to others in the first in- 
stance. 

. " It is further to be remarked, that those acts 
of ours, which are primarily useful to ourselves. 



169 



are secondarily useful to others ; and those which 
are primarily useful to others, are secondarily 
useful to ourselves. Thus, it is by our prudence, 
and fortitude, that we are best enabled to do acts 
of justice and beneficence to others. And it is 
by acts of justice, and beneficence to others, that 
we best dispose them to do similar acts to us." 

After these explanations Mr. Mill proceeds to 
examine the associations into which the ideas of 
these actions, as causes of good, enter. 

" We have two sets of associations," he says, 
" with the acts which are thus named," viz. 
prudent, brave, just, beneficent ; — " one set of 
associations, when they are considered as our 
own acts ; another set, when they are considered 
as the acts of other men. 

" When they are considered as our own acts ; 
in other words, when we consider our own pru- 
dence, bravery, justice, and beneficence, we have 
associations with them of the following kind. 

" With our own acts of prudence and bravery, 
we associate good to ourselves ; that is. either 
pleasure or the cause of pleasure, as the imme- 
diate consequent. Acts of prudence, for example, 
are divided into two sorts ; the sort productive of 
good, and the sort preventive of evil. All acts 
which add to our wealth, power, and dignity, or 
any one of them, so far as they produce this 
effect, without counterbalancing evil, may be 
called acts of prudence. Thus, incessant labour, 



170 



by all those to whom it is necessary for subsist- 
ence, or for reputation, is a course of prudence. 
Prudence, however, in its common acceptation, is 
more employed to denote the acts by which we 
avoid evils, than those by which we obtain good ; 
those by which we reject present pleasures, when 
followed by pains which overbalance them, and 
those by which we endure present pains when 
they prevent the following of greater pains. It 
thus appears, that for acts of prudence, knowledge 
is required. It is the choice, among the acts within 
our power, of those the consequences of which 
constitute the greatest amount of good." 

And now we come to Sir James's courage. 

" When we perform," says Mr. Mill, " acts of 
courage or fortitude, the chance of evil is incurred 
for the sake of a preponderant good. If the good 
were not a balance for the chance of evil, the 
consequences of the act would not be a balance 
of good. The act would not be a moral act, and 
would have no title to the name of courage. 
Knowledge, therefore, is as necessary to the ex- 
ercise of this virtue, as to that of prudence. 
Courage, in fact, is but a species of the acts of 
prudence ; a class, selected for distinction by a 
particular name ; that class in which evils of a 
particular description are to be hazarded for the 
sake of a preponderant good. 

" When, with the ideas of our acts of prudence, 
and acts of courage, past, and future, have been 



171 



associated, sufficiently often, the class of benefits, 
which are the consequences of them, they are no 
longer simple ideas, indifferent ideas ; they are 
complex pleasurable ideas. That is, they are 
affections;" and affections of any degree of in- 
tensity and power. 

Now then, let us see how this account cor- 
responds with the representation of Sir James. 
He makes Mr. Mill say, that courage consists in 
fighting only when there is more danger in 
running away; as if the whole consideration was 
a balance of chances against the life of the in- 
dividual. Is it possible, that this was any thing 
else, than an intended misrepresentation? Do 
not Mr. Mill's words, as clearly as it is possible 
for words to express an idea, declare, that it is a 
balance of good upon all the consequences of the 
act, which makes it an act fit to be performed ; 
and that this is the grand property in which an 
act of courage agrees with an act of prudence ? 
So much so, that in a case in which the death of 
the individual is certain, courage may require 
that he maintain his post. 

Having considered the associations we each of 
us have with our own acts of prudence, fortitude, 
justice, and beneficence, Mr. Mill proceeds to the 
associations we have with such acts, when per- 
formed by other people ; and, when he comes to 
courage, says, " We have seen that fortitude is 
the name of that class of acts, in which a good 



is aimed at by the risk of a great evil. There is 
a grand class of cases in which the good aimed 
at is not the peculiar good of the individual by 
whom the act or series of acts is performed, but 
a good common to others, to a whole people. Of 
course, in such a case, we have a strong associa- 
tion of our own pleasures, or exemption from 
pains, with other men's courage, whether we are 
sharing with them in the danger, or exempted 
from it by their acts. This association is such as 
to constitute a very strong affection. Even when 
the good sought by the act of courage is only 
the good of the individual, we have with it a 
sufficient association of pleasurable ideas to con- 
stitute it an affection. We have, first of all, an 
agreeable association wdth the balance of good 
which the act is calculated to produce to the 
actor. And next we have a very powerful asso- 
ciation of pleasure with the state of mind in 
which the idea of a great evil is controlled by 
the idea of a greater good. When the motive 
exists to do us good in a man who has such a 
mind, he will not be deterred by the prospect of 
an inadequate evil. When we encounter danger 
in company with such a man, we shall not be ex- 
posed to greater danger by his deserting us." 

What Sir James poorly smatters afterwards, 
when he fancies he gives us information about 
the formation of habits, is unworthy of notice ; 
except where he concludes, by saying, the best 



173 



writers of Mr. Bentham's school overlook the in- 
dissolubility of these associations " (viz. those by 
which habits are formed,) " and appear not to bear 
in mind that their strength and rapid action con- 
stitute the perfect state of a moral agent." This 
is almost incredible, in a man who includes 
Mr. Mill by name among those writers. It is 
Mr. Mill, who first made known the great im- 
portance of the principle of the indissoluble asso- 
ciation. It is he, who has shewn, that various 
mental phenomena, which had puzzled all pre- 
ceding inquirers, may be satisfactorily accounted 
for, by application to them of the principle of in- 
indissoluble association. It is by aid of this 
principle, that he has performed all the more im- 
portant parts of his analytical process. And yet 
Sir James is capable of setting him down among 
those who have neglected that principle. 

Either Sir James never read the book ; and 
then he imputed errors to it, without knowing or 
caring, whether he spoke truth or falsehood ; or, 
if he had read the book, he spoke falsehood wil- 
fully. I suppose the former case, which is the 
common case with Sir James; for this disserta- 
tion proves, beyond all possibility of doubt, that, 
pretending to read every thing, he read hardly 
any thing ; but nevertheless made his criticisms, 
laudatory, or condemnatory, as he found the 
motive, with as much assurance as if his acquaint- 
ance with the books he criticised had been familiar 
and complete. 



174 



These two objections, first, that Mr. Beiitham 
made the principle of morality the sole motive to 
a virtuous act, in which we have seen that Sir 
James confounded motive and intention, and at 
the same time spoke in defiance of evidence ; 
secondly, that Mr. Bentham made calculation, 
alias, good intention, to form a necessary part 
of every virtuous act ; constitute, in reality, the 
whole of Sir James's argument against the ethical 
system of Mr. Bentham. 

Sir James, however, goes on to arraign good 
intention, under the name of calculation, by 
ascribing to it a couple of deplorable effects. 

First, it prevents " the inherent delight of the 
virtuous affections from being duly estimated." 

Secondly, it prevents the " beneficial effect 
of good conduct on the frame of the mind," from 
being attended to. 

At least, he afl[irms, that those whom he calls 
the followers of Mr. Bentham are guilty of those 
faults. 

He couches both accusations in the following 
words : " The followers of Mr. Bentham have 
carried to an unusual extent the prevalent fault 
of the more modern advocates of utility, who 
have dwelt so exclusively on the outward ad- 
vantages of virtue " (viz. those beneficial con- 
sequences of an act which form the essence of 
good intention,) " as to have lost sight of the 
delight which is a part of virtuous feeling" (the 



175 



first of the two grounds of accusation) ; ^* and of 
the beneficial influence of good actions upon the 
frame of the mind," — which is the second. 

This is a matter, on which we must dwell with 
the more minuteness, because it is one on which 
Sir James lays stress. He treats of it with 
seeming fervour, and is unwilling to leave it. 
He desires that virtue should be considered to be 
the offspring of the affections. But what is still 
more remarkable, and calls more urgently upon 
our attention, he represents the having of the 
affections as the main thing, the performing the 
acts, as of minor importance. 

From what Sir James says immediately after- 
wards, in a wordy panegyric on the " delight of 
virtuous feeling," we learn that by " virtuous 
feeling," he means the social affections. The 
social affections are such as gratitude, pity, love of 
kindred, love of country, benevolence to indivi- 
duals generally, and so on. 

Sir James sings a loud song about the delight 
which he says forms " a part" of these feelings. 
This expression shews full well, that of the com- 
position of these feelings Sir James was ignorant. 
Delight a part of gratitude ! He might as well 
have talked of pain's being " a part" of the prick 
of a needle. What any other man would have 
said is, that gratitude is a pleasurable feeling. 
The feeling is not one thing, the pleasure another. 
The feeling is one of that class of feelings which 



176 



are pleasurable ; as gold is of that class of things 
which are yellow. 

Allowing then these aflfections to be as delight- 
ful as Sir James thought it was fine to call them ; 
let them, if it will please him, be ten times more 
delightful than experience shews them to be, how 
does that affect the necessity of a good intention 
to a moral act? And how does the necessity of a 
good intention, and of that regard to consequences 
in which it consists ; or rather, how does the 
inculcating that necessity, with any degree of 
earnestness, argue an ignorance, in any respect, of 
the value of the social affections? Is a man, 
because the social affections are delightful, not to 
look to the consequences of his acts ? Is he, 
because he has a great pleasure in pleasing some- 
body, to perform an act which will please him, 
whatever the consequences ? Is he not to balance 
the consequences, if they are partly good, and 
partly evil ; and to abstain from the act alto- 
gether, how intense soever the "delight" of his 
social feeling, if the bad consequences prepon- 
derate ? Sir James's delightful affections operate 
by producing motives ; and though in constituting 
motives they operate generally in the right direc- 
tion, they do occasionally operate in the wrong ; 
and would do so to a deplorable extent, if they 
were not held in continual restraint by the obliga- 
tion, which every man feels, of acting with a good 
intention ; that is, with a due regard to all the 



177 



consequences of his acts ; that is, with honest 
calculation ; that is, in ohedience to the principle 
of utility. 

The accusation, then, of Mr. Bentham and 
" his followers," that they attended so much to 
the intention implied in the act, that they did not 
attend enough to the intensity of the pleasure 
which in a class of cases incites to the act, is 
purely ridiculous. Did not Sir James perceive, 
that the more violent this incitement, if the man 
is not effectually controled by the regard to con- 
sequences, the greater is the danger of his acting 
immorally ? No ; Sir James saw no such thing. 
He did not even see that motive is one thing, and 
intention another. 

The stress, then, of this accusation against 
Mr. Bentham, and those whom it pleases Sir James 
to call his followers, is, that they inculcated on 
men, attention to the consequences of their acts 
too much ; attention to the delight of the social 
affections too little. The answer is, that they did 
neither. Mr. Mill, among those who are probably 
included in Sir James's term " followers," is the 
only one who has written any thing on the sub- 
ject. He and Mr. Bentham, so far from having 
neglected the social affections, have spoken of 
them, and of the consequences of acts, as far as 
their subject required, and no farther. Their 
subject was the theory of morals, not the practice. 
They had to expound those phenomena of our 

N 



178 



nature which involve the judgment we form of 
actions as right and wrong. Their duty was 
exposition solely. Inculcation is the province of 
the practical moralist ; and it is for him to tell 
how much, with a view to good consequences, the 
social affections deserve cultivation ; whether the 
selfish pleasure of having them, which Sir James 
makes such a rant about, is the only object in view, 
or the beneficial actions to which, as contributing 
to the formation of motives, they incite. 

But however insignificant the inculpatory lan- 
guage of Sir James is thus seen to be, it is 
material to shew against what a power of evidence 
that his accusation was unfounded and discre- 
ditable, he chose to deliver it to the world. 

Mr. Bentham, in expounding the business of 
law, had much to do with intentions, and motives ; 
the former, as the ground on which an agent 
becomes the subject of punishment or reward ; 
the latter, as the instrument with which the legis- 
lator has to operate, both in preventing bad 
actions, and producing good. 

The origin of motives is pleasures and pains. 
For the sake of tracing motives to their origin, 
Mr. Bentham gives a list of pleasures and pains. 
In his list of pleasures are found, the pleasures of 
amity, the pleasm-es of a good name, the pleasures 
of benevolence. Of these last, he says ; " the 
pleasures of benevolence are the pleasures result- 
ing from the view of any pleasures supposed to be 



179 



possessed by the beings who may be the objects of 
benevolence ; to wit, the sensitive beings we are 
acquainted with ; under which are commonly 
included,—!, the Supreme Being ; 2, human 
beings ; 3, other animals. These may also be 
called the pleasures of good will, the pleasures of 
sympathy, or the pleasures of the benevolent or 
social affections." 

We now turn to the account which he gives of 
the motives which spring from these pleasures, 
when we shall see not only the place which they 
hold among the causes of good actions, but the 
restraint under which they need to be held to 
prevent their becoming the cause of bad actions. 
" To the pleasures of sympathy," he says,* 
corresponds the motive which, in a neutral 
sense, is termed good-will. The word sympathy 
may also be used on this occasion : though the 
sense of it seems to be rather more extensive. In 
a good sense, it is styled benevolence ; and in 
certain cases, philanthropy ; and, in a figurative 
way, brotherly love ; in others, humanity ; in 
others, charity ; in others, pity and compassion ; 
in others, mercy ; in others, gratitude ; in others, 
tenderness ; in others, patriotism ; in others, 
public spirit. Love is also employed in this as in 
so many other senses. In a bad sense, it has no* 
name applicable to it in all cases : in particular 

* Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation^ 
ch. 10. § 25. 

N 2 



180 



cases it is styled partiality. The word zeal, with 
certain epithets prefixed to it, might also be 
employed sometimes on this occasion, though the 
sense of it be more extensive ; applying some- 
times to ill as well as to good will. It is thus we 
speak of party zeal, national zeal, and public zeal. 
The word attachment is also used with the like 
epithets : we also say family-attachment. The 
French expression, esprit de corps, for which as 
yet there seems to be scarcely any name in 
English, might be rendered, in some cases, though 
rather inadequately, by the terms corporation 
spirit, corporation attachment, or corporation zeal. 

" 1. A man who has set a town on fire is appre- 
hended and committed : out of regard or compas- 
sion for him, you help him to break prison. In 
this case the generality of people will probably 
scarcely know whether to condemn your motive 
or applaud it : those who condemn your conduct, 
will be disposed rather to impute it to some other 
motive : if they style it benevolence or compas- 
sion, they will be for prefixing an epithet, and 
calling it false benevolence or false compassion.* 

* Among the Greeks;, perhaps the motive, and the conduct 
it gave birth to, would, in such a case, have been rather ap- 
proved than disapproved of. It seems to have been deemed an 
act of heroism on the part of Hercules, to have delivered his 
friend Theseus from hell : though divine justice, which held 
him there, should naturally have been regarded as being at 
least upon a footing with human justice. But to divine justice, 
even when acknowledged under that character, the respect paid 



181 



2. The man is taken again, and is put upon his 
trial : to save him you swear falsely in his favour. 
People, who would not call your motive a bad 
one before, will perhaps call it so now. 3. A man 
is at law with you about an estate : he has no 
right to it : the judge knows this, yet, having an 
esteem or affection for your adversary, adjudges 
it to him. In this case the motive is by every 
body deemed abominable, and is termed injustice 
and partiality. 4. You detect a statesman in 
receiving bribes : out of regard to the public 
interest, you give information of it, and prosecute 
him. In this case, by all who acknowledge your 
conduct to have originated from this motive, your 
motive will be deemed a laudable one, and styled 
public spirit. But his friends and adherents will 
not choose to account for your conduct in any 
such manner : they will rather attribute it to 
party enmity. 5. You will find a man on the 
point of starving : you relieve him ; and save his 
life. In this case your motive will by every 
body be accounted laudable, and it will be termed 
compassion, pity,' charity, benevolence. Yet in 
all these cases the motive is the same : it is 
neither more nor less than the motive of good-will." 

at that time of day does not seem to have been very profound, 
or well-settled : at present, the respect paid to is profound and 
settled enough, though the name of it is but too often applied 
to dictates which could have had no other origin than the worst 
sort of human caprice. 



182 



After enumerating all the classes of motives, 
and tracing them to their origin, he comes to 
consider the order of pre-eminence among them ; 
when he says, " Of all these sorts of motives, 
good-will is that of which the dictates, taken in a 
general view, are surest of coinciding with those 
of the principle of utility. For the dictates of 
utility are neither more nor less than the dictates 
of the most extensive and enlightened (that is, 
well-advised) benevolence. The dictates of the 
other motives may be conformable to those of 
utility, or repugnant, as it may happen." 

This throws light not only on Sir James's 
charge, that Mr. Bentham, and- those who think 
as he does, overlook the value, as a source of 
motives, of the social affections ; but also on that 
other charge, that they represent the principle of 
utility as the only motive of a moral act. 

Mr. Mill, whose object it was to analyze all 
those states of mind, and shew wherein they con- 
sist, goes more minutely to work. 

He considers the state of mind, which is gene- 
rated by the idea of a pleasure or train of plea- 
sures associated with the idea of its cause ; and 
he shews that this is what has received the 
generical name of love, or affection. I shall pass 
over what he says of the case in which other 
causes enter into this association, either imme- 
diate and particular, or remote and general, of 
which last the more remarkable species are, wealth. 



183 



dignity, and power ; and shall come to those cases 
in which the idea of our fellow-creatures, as cause 
of our j^leasures, enters into the associations which 
we call alfections. He begins the subject in this 
manner* : — 

" Wealth, power, and dignity, being the origin 
of such powerful aifections as we find them to be, 
though the causes of pleasure to us only by being 
the causes of the actions of our fellow-creatures ; 
it would be wonderful if our fellow-creatures 
themselves, the more immediate causes of those 
actions, should not be the origin of affections. 
But this is not the case ; our fellow-creatures are 
the origin of affections of the greatest influence in 
human life ; to the enumeration of which it is now 
our business to proceed." 

He thus goes on :— 

" We contemplate our fellow creatures, as 
cause of our pleasures, either individually, or in 
groups. We shall consider the several cases 
which have attracted sufficient attention to be 
distinguished by names. 1. That of friendship. 
2. That of kindness. 3. That of family. 4. That 
of country. 5. That of party. 6. That of man- 
kind." 

To exemplify the mode in which he presents 
the analysis of these cases, I shall select kindness, 
and the family affection. 

Of kindness he says, " There is nothing which 

* Analysis of the Human Mind, ch. 21. sub -sect. 2. 



184 

more instantly associates with itself the ideas of 
our own pleasures and pains, than the idea of the 
pleasures and pains of another of our fellow crea- 
tures. The expositions already afforded suffi- 
ciently indicate the source of this association, 
which exerts a powerful and salutary influence 
in human life. The idea of a man enjoying a 
train of pleasures, or happiness, is felt by every 
body to be a pleasurable idea. The idea of a 
man under a train of sufferings or pains is 
equally felt to be a painful idea. This can arise 
from nothing but the association of our own 
pleasures with the first idea, and of our own 
pains with the second. We never feel any pains 
and pleasures but our own. The fact indeed, is, 
that our very idea of the pains or pleasures of 
another man is only the idea of our own pains 
or our own pleasures associated with the idea of 
another man. This is one, not of the least im- 
portant and curious of all cases of association ; 
and instantly shews how powerful must be the 
association of ideas of our own pains and pleasures, 
in a feeling so compounded. The pleasurable 
association composed of the ideas of a man and 
his pleasures, and the painful association com- 
posed of the ideas of a man and his pains, are 
both affections ; which have so much of the same 
tendency, that they are included under one name, 
kindness ; though the latter affection has a name 
appropriate to itself, compassion." 



185 



When Mr. Mill comes to the case of family, he 
says, The group, which consists of a father, 
mother, and children, is called a family. The 
associations which each member of this group has 
of his pains and pleasures, with the pains and 
pleasures of the other members, constitute some 
of the most interesting states of human conscious- 
ness. 

" The affection of the husband and wife is, in 
its origin, that of two persons of different sex, 
and needs not be farther analysed. To this 
source of pleasurable association is added, when 
the union is happy, all those other associations, 
just enumerated, which constitute the affection of 
friendship. To this another addition is made by 
the union of interests ; or that necessity under 
which they are placed, of deriving pain and 
pleasure from the same causes. Though in too 
many instances, these pleasurable associations are 
extinguished, by the generation of others of an 
opposite description ; in other cases they are 
carried to such a height, as to afford an exempli- 
fication of that remarkable state of mind, in 
which a greater value seems to be set upon the 
means, than upon the end. Persons have been 
found, the one of whom could not endure to live 
without the other." 

Mr. Mill next proceeds to analyse the parental 
affection ; but thinks it necessary to do this with 
so much minuteness, that the passage is too long 



186 



for quotation. After treating both of this and 
the filial affection, he comes to that which exists 
among brothers and sisters. " This has in it." 
he says, " most of the ingredients which go to 
the composition of friendship. There is, first of 
all, companionship ; the habit of enjoying plea- 
sures in common, and also of suffering pains ; 
hence a great readiness in sympathising with one 
another ; that is, in associating trains, each of his 
own pains and pleasures, with the pains and 
pleasures of the rest. There is next, where the 
education is good, a constant reciprocation, to the 
extent of their power, of beneficent acts. And 
lastly, there is their common relation to the grand 
source of all their pleasures, the parent." 

Mr. Mill concludes his exposition of the family 
affections with these words : — " When the affec- 
tions of the domestic class exist in perfection (in 
such a state of education and morals as ours this 
rarely can happen), they afford so constant a 
succession of agreeable trains, that they form, 
perhaps, the most valuable portion of human 
happiness. Acts of beneficence to the larger 
masses of mankind afford still more interesting 
trains to those who perform them. But they are 
the small number. The happiness of the domestic 
affections is open to all." 

What has now been adduced is abundantly 
sufficient to shew, that when Sir James brought 
his charge against Mr. Bentham and Mr. Mill, of 



187 



not having spoken enough of the pleasures of the 
social affections, and of having spoken too much 
of the obligation on a moral agent of attention to 
the consequences of his acts, he spoke in the 
teeth of conclusive evidence, and with a dis- 
graceful ignorance of his subject. 

After explaining how the social affections are 
formed, Mr. Mill explains by what change in 
these associations they become motives, and the 
cause of acts ; and, in what manner, namely, by 
acting in frequent obedience to those motives, the 
corresponding disposition is created, namely, a 
facility of being acted upon by those motives, or 
a tendency to the performance of the acts, — acts, 
which for the most part are good, but may be evil 
to any extent, and need, therefore, the control of at- 
tention to the moral principle, as completely as the 
acts which flow from any other class of motives. 

So much, then, for the truth of the charge, 
that " the followers of Mr. Bentham have lost 
sight of the delight which is a part of virtuous 
feeling." 

Those, however, have seen but little of Sir 
James who have not looked at his words. I 
therefore think it important, both for the advan- 
tage of shewing Sir James in his true colours, 
and the instruction which may be derived from a 
specimen of the mode of cross-questioning delin- 
quent words, to look at the phrases in which he 
clothed his wisdom on this occasion. 



188 



" The followers of Mr. Bentham," says Sir 
James, "have carried to an unusual extent the 
prevalent fault of the more modern advocates of 
utility, who have dwelt so exclusively on the 
outward advantages of virtue as to have lost 
sight of the delight which is a part of virtuous 
feeling, and of the beneficial influence of good 
actions upon the mind. * Benevolence towards 
others,' says Mr. Mill, * produces a return of 
benevolence from them.' The fact is true, and 
ought to be stated. But how unimportant is it 
in comparison with that which is passed over in 
silence, the pleasure of the affection itself, which 
if it could become lasting and intense, would con- 
vert the heart into a heaven ! '' 

Mr. Mill says that benevolence produces a 
return of benevolence. Is this, then, all which 
Mr. Mill said about benevolence ? Are not the 
passages above cited some proof to the contrary ? 

Mr. Mill " passed over in silence the pleasure 
of the affection itself." He was not an ordinary 
man who could venture upon this assertion. 
Mr. Mill had traced home to their source, not one, 
but all of the social affections ; and had shewn 
by distinct analysis that they are entirely com- 
posed of pleasurable feelings ; in fact that they 
are, each, a cluster of pleasurable feelings ; that 
is, pleasure itself ; constituting in their best form 
one of the most valuable portions of human hap- 
piness. In fact, they could not enter into motives 



189 



without being pleasures ; and Mr. Mill treats of 
them as constituting a most important class of 
motives. 

Mr. Mill not only shews that these affections 
are composed of pleasures, but further, that they 
operate as a fertile source of pleasiuTS, viz., to 
other men, being a very frequent cause of good 
acts, though needing, by perpetual watclifulness, 
to be kept obedient to the moral principle, in 
order that, by seeking to do good to one or a few, 
they may not produce a preponderance of evil to 
others ; in fact, that one of these affections may 
not be gratified by the violation of another ; 
more especially, that benevolence, the generical 
affection, may not be violated, in obedience to the 
impulse of some one of inferior importance. 

Yet the man, who got a reputation under the 
name of ]Mackintosh, could give it to the world, 
that Mr. Mill had nothing more to say about 
benevolence, than that it produced a return of 
benevolence ; though that is no trifle ; and is 
deserving of more respect, if Sir James knew all, 
than seems to be implied in his exclamation, 
" how unimportant." 

This pleasm-e of benevolence, which Mr. Mill 
expounded fully, both as to what it is, and what 
it does, but which. Sir James says, he passed over 
in silence, would, " if it could become lasting and 
intense," that is, if it could become a very plea- 
surable state of mind, for that is the meaning of 



190 



a pleasure lasting and intense, would be a very 
pleasurable state of mind ; for that is the only- 
meaning which can be annexed to the macaroni 
phrase, " a heart converted into a heaven." And 
because benevolence, if it could become a very 
pleasurable state of mind, would be a very plea- 
surable state of mind, therefore the followers of 
Mr. Bentham have dwelt so exclusively on the 
outward advantages of virtue, that is, the con- 
sequences of their acts, as to have lost sight of 
the delight which is a part of virtuous feeling. 
How attention to the consequences of acts is 
inconsistent with attention to the delight of the 
social affection, Sir James should have explained 
to us ; and has not. 

Sir James's next words are these. " No one 
who has ever felt kindness, if he could accurately 
recall his feelings " (he must be a strange fellow 
who cannot recall his feelings when he felt kind- 
ness) " could hesitate about their infinite supe- 
riority." Superiority? To what? The thing 
which Sir James was speaking about was the 
fact adverted to by Mr. Mill, that benevolence in 
one man towards other men, is a cause of bene- 
volence in them towards him. But when Sir 
James says that the feelings a man has when he 
is kind, i. e, when he is benevolent, are superior 
to the return of benevolence, what is it he means ? 
That it is more pleasing to love other men, than 
to be loved by them ? This, at any rate, may be 



191 



doubted ; and therefore there can be no great 
superiority; still less that " superiority" 
Sir James is pleased to tell us of. This being- 
silly, let us suppose Sir James to mean, that the 
pleasure of good will to other men is infinitely su- 
perior to all the pleasure derived from all the good 
which men can receive at the hands of other men 
in consequence of their benevolence. Every body 
knows that this is untrue. If it is Sir James's 
opinion that of all the good which exists in the 
world, the proportion which proceeds from this 
source, the reciprocation of kindness, is not very 
great, he is too ignorant to be talked to upon any 
thing which concerns the moral condition of 
mankind. 

But besides all this, where is the good of 
bringing the pleasure of having good will toward 
other men into comparison, either with the 
• delight of being the object of their good will, or 
that of being the object of their good acts, the 
effect of their good will ; or of bringing col- 
lectively the good of having the pleasurable 
feeling of good will into comparison with the 
collective good of the acts of beneficence of which 
the benevolence kindled in one man by the bene- 
volence of another is the productive cause ? 

The value to mankind of having the feeling 
of benevolence, is one thing ; the value to them 
of the good things which spring from bene- 
volence as effects, is another. The first value is 



192 



not lessened, by the magnitude of the second. 
The sum of the ingredients of happiness is only 
so much the greater. And there is yet another 
question, which comes nearer home to that of 
Sir James's competency to the task he has under- 
taken ; what connection has the tawdry talk of 
Sir James, about the delight of the social affec- 
tions, with the two questions, the solution of 
which, according to himself, completes the science 
of morals ? 

The first of these questions is, — What is 
morality ? 

The second is, — Wliat is the approbation of 
morality, or the feeling we have when we con- 
template virtuous acts ? 

1. Sir James does not m^ean to say, that the 
" delight " he speaks of, is the " morality " of an 
act. He does not probably mean to say that 
any of the social affections, though he calls them, 
not very aptly, virtuous feeling, is the morality 
of the act to which it may have given birth ; 
because they may all give birth to immoral acts. 
To tell us, that the social affections are delightful ; 
and to call upon all those who touch upon moral 
questions, to bawl loudly about the delight of 
them ; and to treat it as infinitely superior in 
value to all the good acts which grow from reci- 
procation of benevolence, is not to tell us what 
morality is. 

2. As little certainly do we derive any informa- 



193 



tion about the nature of that sentiment with 
which we contemplate a moral act, and which we 
denominate moral approbation, from eulogiums, 
however hyperbolical, on the pleasure of the 
social affections. The social affection is not the 
moral approbation. The social affection, when 
it has any thing to do with an act, has it in the 
way of cause ; it gives birth to the motive. That 
is, it precedes the act ; but the moral approbation 
follows it. Besides, if the social affection were 
both the morality of the act, and also the approba- 
tion of it, there would be that very confusion of the 
quality of the act, with the sentiment with which 
it is regarded, which Sir James so ridiculously 
ascribed to Bentham, Paley, and Leibnitz. 

The next sentence we have from Sir James is 
a first-rate curiosity. " The cause of the general 
neglect of this consideration is, that it is only 
when a gratification is something distinct from 
a state of mind, that we can easily learn to con- 
sider it as a pleasure." 

" This consideration " is that which was spoken 
of in the preceding sentence, to wit, the infinite 
superiority of the feelings a man has when he 
feels kindness. Sir James complains that these 
feelings have been neglected, and he says he will 
tell us the reason of it. The cause is, that they 
are states of mind. Had it been otherwise, had 
they not been states of mind, the delight of them 
would have been known, and attended to ; would 

o 



194 



at least have had a better chance of being so. 
" For," says Sir James, it is only when a gra- 
tification " (alluding to that delight) " is some- 
thing distinct from a state of mind, that," &c. 
Now, reader, do but settle with yourself, what the 
man could have known about the mind, who 
talked of a " gratification," as " something distinct 
from a state of mind." Why, a gratification is a 
state of mind ; if not a state of mind, it is no- 
thing. The word gratification is a name given to 
a state of the mind ; a pleasurable state. A gra- 
tification, therefore, distinct from a state of mind, 
is a gratification distinct from itself ; in other 
words, not itself ; in other words, nothing. 

Now then observe, what Sir James says next. 
He says, " We cannot easily learn to consider a 
gratification as a pleasure," that is, a gratification 
as a gratification, or a pleasure as a pleasure (very 
hard !) unless under a condition, and that as- 
suredly a miraculous one, that the gratification 
shall be distinct from a state of mind. 

It is very disgusting to follow such a man as 
this through his labyrinth of jargon. It is, how- 
ever, useful ; both for the exposure of such a 
case of imposture ; and as a practical lesson to 
the young ; to whom nothing is of more import- 
ance than the art of detecting want of meaning, 
or foolish meaning, or bad meaning, under foggy 
expressions. 

Take his next sentence. " Hence the great 



195 



error resi3ecting the affections, where the inherent 
delight is not duly estimated, on account of that 
very peculiarity of being a part of a state of 
mind, which renders it unspeakably more va- 
luable as independent of every thing without." I 
wish the reader would here ask himself what he 
understands by these words. 

" Hence," says Sir James, that is, from what 
he said in the preceding sentence, that a gratifica- 
tion is not easily found to be a gratification, 
unless in the case in which it is no gratification ; 
from this he says, proceeds " the great error 
respecting the affections," An amusing origin, it 
must be confessed. 

His next word is " where ; " equivalent to in 
which, and may have for its antecedent, either 
" great error," or " affection," but is improperly 
used in either case. " An error " where some- 
thing is not duly estimated, is not English. And 
" affections " where the inherent delight is so and 
so, is an expression equally absurd. 

But passing by particles and connectives, let us 
come to the predication. " The inherent delight 
is not duly estimated, on account of that very 
peculiarity of being a part of a state of mind." 
But why should its being a part of a state of 
mind hinder its being duly estimated ? Sir James 
does not tell us why. And I do not expect to 
meet with any body else who will do it for him. 
And what does Sir James mean by a delight's 

o 2 



196 

being a part of a state of mind ? Does he ima- 
gine that a state of mind exists by parts ? This 
is the same ignorance we had before, when delight 
was spoken of as a part of feeling ; as if delight 
was any thing but a name for a delightful feeling, 
that is, a delightful state of mind. 

" Which renders it unspeakably more valuable 
as independent of every thing without." 

Here Sir James tells us three things, — 1st. That 
the delight of the affections is independent of every 
thing without ; 2ndly. That it is thereby unspeak- 
ably more valuable ; Srdly. That it has this inde- 
pendence by being part of a state of mind. 

What Sir James means by " independent of 
every thing without," we have to guess. He says, 
it is a quality unspeakably valuable. He also 
says it belongs to every state of mind, or part of 
a state, since it is in right of its being such a part, 
that a delight has it. In that case, the whole 
man is independent of every thing without. The 
feelings of the living man make up his being ; 
and these feelings, from the highest exertions of 
intellect, and the noblest designs of benevolence, 
down to sensations, are all states of mind. Every 
thing, therefore, which man has is of unspeak- 
able value. And hence he must be an unspeak- 
ably happy being. 

I incline to think that what here Sir James 
was blundering about, was some vague recollec- 
tion of the boast of the ancient Stoics, that they 



197 



had their virtue in their own hands, for it de- 
pended on their inward purposes, and not on any 
thing without. But the Stoics never said that 
a man's delights did not depend on any thing 
without. 

Are the social affections independent of every 
thing without, when they are caused by some- 
thing without, and have for their objects nothing 
but what is without ; that is, have both their 
beginning and their end in what is without ? 

There is more of Sir James on the delight of 
the affections, equal in value to what I have 
pointed out ; but I find it intolerable to take up 
every sentence, and shall pass to what he calls 
" the other virtuous dispositions." He says, the 
delight of having them, too, is a very great 
delight ; and he takes for one instance the 
courageous disposition. He says its use in pro- 
tecting its owner from danger is of far less value 
to him than the consciousness of possessing it. 
But from what did Sir James imagine does the 
pleasure of this consciousness arise? Men are 
generally not much pleased in the consciousness 
of possessing something which is of no use to 
them. The pleasing consciousness of a possession 
is the association with the idea of it, of the idea 
of all the advantages which may result from it. 
Sir James alludes to the advantages to others, 
which a man of courage may contemplate, as 
among the fruits of his bravery ; the defence, for 



198 



example, of " a righteous cause." Undoubtedly ; 
such ideas contribute powerfully to constitute his 
pleasing consciousness. Information from Sir 
James to this effect was little called for, since the 
fact is neither strange nor disputed. We have 
already seen how fully they are shewn by 
Mr. Mill to be included in the associations which 
regard the virtue of courage. 

Sir James, after informing us that, in the pleas- 
ing consciousness of possessing courage, more is 
included than the mere thought of the good effects 
immediately regarding the man himself, proceeds 
to tell us that the same is the case with humility ; 
very unnecessarily ; for there is nobody who will 
dispute that it is the case with every virtuous 
disposition. The consciousness of possessing it 
is a pleasurable state of mind, made up of the 
thought of all the good consequences, of which it 
is naturally the cause. Humility, however, seems 
to be mentioned for the sake of introducing the 
perversion of a passage in the work of Mr. Mill, 
and thereupon building a condemnation of the 
author. 

" Humility has of late been unwarrantably 
used to signify that painful consciousness of infe- 
riority which is the first stage of envy." And for 
this " unwarrantable use," the reference is, Mill's 
Analysis of the Human Mind, vol. ii. p. 222*' 
He does, not favour us with any statement of the 
grounds of this charge ; other than this bare 



199 



reference in a note at the bottom of the page. 
We are therefore obliged to look at the passage in 
the book. 

In referring to a passage in this work, which is 
a course of analysis, proceeding from the most 
simple, to the most complicated phenomena of the 
human mind, there is frequently this disadvan- 
tage, that a preceding part of the analysis must 
be taken into view, to ascertain the import of 
that which is the immediate object of attention. 
Such is the case, at present. 

One grand class of the cases which Mr. Mill had 
to analyze, was the union formed by association 
of the ideas of our pleasures and pains, with the 
ideas of the causes of them. The causes of our 
pleasures and pains he found it convenient to his 
analysis to consider as of two kinds — 1, the 
immediate causes ; 2, the remote. 

Having examined the associations formed with 
the immediate causes, and the affections they 
constitute, he proceeds to the consideration of 
those formed with the remote causes, and com- 
mences thus : — 

" As among the remote causes of our pleasures 
and pains may be reckoned every thing which in 
any way contributes to them, it follows that the 
number of such causes is exceedingly great. Of 
course it is only the principal cases which have 
been alluded to, and classed under titles. They 
are the following ; — wealth, power, dignity, as 



200 



regards the pleasurable sensations ; poverty, im- 
potence, con temp tibility, as regards the painful." 

Mr. Mill then expounds at length, the states of 
mind which are formed by association of the ideas 
of these remote causes with the ideas of the plea- 
sures and pains which they are calculated to 
produce, noticing the names which, as affections, 
they have received ; and afterwards remarks this 
important fact, that these states of mind undergo 
considerable modification, when the different de- 
grees are contemplated in which those important 
causes appertain to different persons. This pas- 
sage is of importance for exhibiting the perversion 
which Sir James presents to his reader of the 
sense of Mr. Mill. 

" It is to be observed," says Mr. Mill, " that 
wealth, power, and dignity, derive a great portion 
of their efficacy, from their comparative amount ; 
that is, from their being possessed by an individual 
in greater quantity than by most other people. 
In contemplating them with the satisfaction with 
which powerful causes of pleasure are contem- 
plated, we seldom fail to include the comparison. 
And the state of consciousness formed by the 
contemplation and comparison taken together is 
called Pride. 

" We are said to be proud of our wealth, proud 
of our power, proud of our dignity ; and also of 
any of the ingredients of which our jiower or 
dignity is composed, of our knowledge, of our 



201 

eloquence, of our family, of our personal 
beauty, &c. 

" It is obvious that, in the contemplation of 
our own wealth, power, and dignity, as greater, 
we include the contemplation of another man's as 
less. As the state of consciousness thus formed, 
when the reference is to ourselves, is called pride, 
it is called contempt, when the reference is to 
others. When the case is reversed, that is, when 
a man contemplates his wealth, power, and dig- 
nity, as less than those of other men, the state of 
consciousness is called Humility'^ 

Such is Mr. Mill's account of humility. It is 
unquestionably a term of comparison ; just as 
pride is,- — its counterpart. No man is humble 
because he thinks himself greater than another 
man, but because he thinks himself less, in some 
respect which he deems of importance. The 
word has many shades of meaning, in common 
parlance ; but this is its generical import. 

This contemplation of a man's self as inferior, 
is not a pleasing state of consciousness, and incites 
to such actions as may remove the inferiority. 
This inferiority may be removed by actions of 
two sorts ; either, actions tending to pull down 
the man who is superior, or actions tending to 
raise the person himself who feels the inferiority. 
When he is incited to acts of the latter sort, his 
state of mind is applauded ; it is called honour- 
able emulation, laudable ambition, and so on. 
When he is incited to acts of the former sort, his 



202 



state of mind is abhorred, and is called envy, one 
of the most dishonouring of terms. 

It is cruel that Sir James's ignorance, and evil 
disposition, should force us upon these tedious 
explanations. But now at last we shall be 
enabled to see to the bottom of his imputation. 

" Humility,'' he says, " has of late been unwar- 
rantably used to signify that painful consciousness 
of inferiority, which is the first stage of envy." 

By this he plainly imputes to Mr. Mill an 
intention to disparage the virtue of humility, as 
tending to nothing but envy. Is there any truth 
in this representation ? The answer may be 
safely left to the reader. 

What Mr. Mill has said of humility, according 
to Sir James, is this, and this only, that it is the 
first stage of envy. With exactly the same pro- 
priety might he be accused of saying, that shame 
is the first stage of murder. Shame has nothing 
to do with murder, though an ill-directed mind 
may have recourse to murder as a means of 
escaping from shame. Humility has as little to 
do with envy, though an ill-directed mind may 
take wrong methods to relieve the painful feeling 
of inferiority. 

Sir James was utterly ignorant of the relation 
in which an affection stands to a motive and a 
motive to a disposition, though this is one of the 
most useful portions of that analysis which 
Mr. Mill has effected. 

The reference in support of Sir James's perver- 



sion is to what Mr. Mill says of humility in his 
chapter of 3Iotives. He imposes upon us the 
necessity of reciting the passage. 

" W e have seen that the value of wealth, power, 
and dignity, is greatly enhanced by their compa- 
rative amount ; that is, the degree in which they 
are possessed by us compared with the degree in 
which they are possessed by others. 

" We have seen in what manner this com- 
parison generates certain affections, which have 
received the names of pride, on the one hand, 
contempt on the other ; humility on the one 
hand, respect, admiration, on the other. We 
have now to shew in what manner this compa- 
rison generates both motives, and dispositions. 

" As it is not only of value to me to have 
Avealth, power, and dignity, but to have more 
than other men, the surpassing of other men thus 
becomes a cause of pleasure ; and hence the idea 
of this surpassing associated with the idea of acts 
of mine as its cause becomes a motive. 

" We may endeavour to surpass other men by 
either of two ways ; by adding to our own wealth* 
power, dignity ; or by abstracting from theirs. 
When only ideas of the acts which add to our 
advantages enter into the motive, it is called emu- 
lution. When ideas of the acts which abstract 
from theirs enter into it, it is called envy'' 

Having said so much of the motives which may 
arise from this comparison, part urging in the 



204 



right, part in the wrong direction, with the names 
given to them respectively, he proceeds to speak 
of the corresponding dispositions^ and the names 
given to them. " Emulation," he says, is some- 
times the name of the disposition, as well as that 
of the motive," viz. the motive which urges in 
the right direction : but he adds that ambition is 
the more frequent name of this disposition. He 
then turns to the motive which operates in the 
wrong direction, and says, " Envy is the name 
both of the disposition and the motive. It has 
the appearance also of being the name of the cor- 
responding affection, or state of consciousness 
arising from the comparison of another man's 
greater, with our own less advantages." Mr. 
Mill says, that this however is not the case. 
When the state of consciousness is merely compa- 
rison, and has not yet been converted into a 
motive to act, either in the right direction or the 
wrong, it has, as he had said before, the name of 
humility, " It is never envy but when the 
motive to act in the wrong direction is felt ; " 
just as it is emulation, ambition, when the 
motive to act in the right direction is felt. 
Of these two dispositions, the disposition cor- 
responding to the motive which urges in the 
right direction, and the motive which urges in the 
wrong, Mr. Mill speaks generally thus : " The 
same end is attainable by two sets of means, the 
one virtuous, the other vicious. The man who 



205 



takes the virtuous course is the man who has 
formed the liahit of associating his desire of sur- 
passing others with the acts which increase his 
own advantages. The man who takes the vicious 
course is the man who has formed the habit of 
associating with his idea of the benefit of sur- 
passing others the ideas of the acts by which 
their advantages are diminished. This is a case," 
adds Mr. Mill, " of the greatest importance in 
education, and ethics." 

Is it possible to find an attempt to put a wrong 
and odious construction upon a man's words, with 
intention, not only without, but in defiance of 
evidence, more flagrant than that which is dis- 
played in Sir James's declaration, " Humility has 
been unwarrantably used by Mr. Mill to signify 
that painful consciousness of inferiority, which is 
the first stage of envy ? " • 

Sir James, then, in prosecution of his ambition 
of speaking loudly about the delight of social 
affections, and " other virtuous dispositions," and 
of the superior value of this delight to all the 
difference between the consequences of good 
actions and bad, goes on to talk of the " delight" 
of humility. In the sentimental song, sung by 
Sir James on this occasion, there is enough of 
what it would be good to expose. He confounds 
humility with other virtues ; the correct estimate, 
for example, of a man's self. He talks nonsense ; 
as when he says that " humility soothes and com- 



206 



poses vanity, and pride as if the presence of 
humility were not another name for the absence 
of vanity and pride. Vanity and pride do not re- 
main to be soothed by humility ; they are gone 
when humility comes. The word humility is the 
negation of pride and vanity. But as there is 
hardly a sentence of Sir James which does not 
present a demand for exposure, it is impossible to 
do more than give samples of this philosopher. 

After having spent so mauy words in praising 
the delight. Sir James comes to philosophise 
upon it ; and thus he performs : — 

" Virtue has often outward advantao^es, and 
always inward delights ; but the second, though 
constant, strong, inaccessible, and inviolable, are 
not easily considered by the common observer as 
apart from the virtue with which they are 
blended. They are so subtle and evanescent as 
to escape the distinct contemplation of all but 
the very few who meditate on the acts of mind. 
The outward advantages, on the other hand, 
cold, uncertain, dependent, and precarious as they 
are, yet stand out to the sense and memory, may 
be handled and counted, and are perfectly on a 
level with the general apprehension. Hence they 
have become the almost exclusive theme of all 
the moralists who profess to follow reason." 

The having certain feelings of a delightful 
nature, antecedent to action, and independent of 
it, and the consequences which flow from good 



207 

acts, are here placed in counterview ; and the 
feelings are represented as of far greater import- 
ance than the acts. 

In the next place, we are let to know, that it is 
a very difficult thing, to distinguish the feelings ; 
and except to " the very few who meditate on the 
acts of mind," they are unknown, or something- 
very near it. One would imagine that a feeling, 
which is very delightful, would be one of the last 
things to be unknown to the man that felt it. 

. I think it necessary to fix the attention of the 
reader, for a little time, on this curious doctrine. 

It has been frequently mentioned with regret, 
that sentimental novels, and other sentimental 
breathings, have a pernicious effect upon the 
morals of those who are addicted to them, 
especially the young, by encouraging in them a 
notion, that those who have the fine feelings are 
the fine people ; and that having the fine feelings 
they may concern themselves but moderately 
about acts. Sir James, assuredly, is the first who 
has undertaken to erect this sort of thinking into 
a philosophical creed, and to preach formally the 
doctrine that moral acts go a very little way to 
constitute the moral man; that moral feeling is 
the great thing, moral acting a matter of inferior 
consideration. 

As Sir James is the first who has set up this 
system, I venture to predict that he will be alone 
of his school. No man hereafter will dare to 



208 



write moral philosophy, so utterly unqualified for 
the task as Sir James. 

After the intensity of Sir James's " delights," 
we come to the incognoscibility of them. He 
says, " though constant, strong, inaccessible, and 
inviolable, they are not easily considered by the 
common observer as apart from the virtue with 
which they are blended." If we could, we would 
get an answer, from somebody, to the question 
what Sir James meant by the " inaccessibility" 
of a delight ; or its inviolability." A violated 
delight, I should think it not easy to find. 

Sir James says, the fault of the common 
observer is that he does not consider these de- 
lights, " constant, strong, inaccessible, and in- 
violable " though they be, " as apart from the 
virtue with which they are blended." They are 
not, then, the virtue. They are something- 
separate from it ; and it is a failure in perspi- 
cacity, not to distinguish them. 

But then it is necessary to inquire, what 
" the virtue " is, which they are not, but with 
which they are blended. 

Beside the sentiment. Sir James's " delight," 
which may be regarded as cause of the act, there 
is nothing in the case connected with virtue but 
the act itself, and the consequences of it. The 
act, then, and the consequences, are all that re- 
main, apart from the delight, to make the virtue 
out of And what Sir James tells us is this — that 



209 



the delight is far superior in importance to the 
virtue. This moralist does honour to those who 
enabled him to live in the delights of fame. 
Mr. Peter Pounce was his predecessor ; who, in a 
discussion with Parson Adams, established the 
superior merit of good feelings over good acts ; 
which, or the consequences of which. Sir James 
treats as " cold, uncertain, dependent, and pre- 
carious." " Sir, said Adams, my definition of 
charity is a generous disposition to relieve the 
distressed. There is something in that definition, 
answered Peter, which I like well enough ; it is, 
as you say, a disposition ; and does not so much 
consist in the act as in the disposition to do it." 

There are two things, then, the " delight," 
and " the virtue," which Sir James says it is 
difficult to consider as separate. The virtue, as we 
have seen, is in the act and its consequences. 
Now we may safely affirm, that no man ever 
found the least difficulty in considering the feel- 
ing, by which he is inclined to a good act, as dis- 
tinct from the act itself, and its consequences ; 
there never was either man or woman who did 
not distinguish them. When a poor servant girl, 
without a halfpenny in her pocket, says to her 
companion, " that woman and child seem to be 
starving ; I wish to God, I had some halfpence to 
give them ; " does she not know that the pity she 
feels is one thing, the act of giving the half- 
pence, if she had them, and the pleasure of the 

p 



210 



starving wretches in eating the bread which the 
halfpence would purchase, another thing ? 

Sir James says, his " delights " are " subtle, 
evanescent." What is it that he means here to 
denote by the word " subtle ? " In its primary 
use, it would seem to have denoted corporeal 
thinness, exility of parts. But if this is applied 
figuratively to a pleasure, which is neither dense 
nor rare, it would seem to express only weak- 
ness ; a slender pleasure is a weak pleasure. 
" Evanescent," he also calls his " delights." 
And " evanescent" means something, so faint as 
barely to exist, or barely to be seen ; just about 
to become non-existent, or imperceptible. 

Sir James had got into an mtellectual state so 
thoroughly depraved, that I doubt whether a 
parallel to it is possible to be found. He seems 
to have become utterly regardless of, perhaps in- 
capable of regarding, what he said. He had but 
two lines before told us, with equal emphasis, 
that his " delights " were " strong," " constant." 
He now tells us that they are " subtle," " evanes- 
cent," which seems to be precisely the negation 
of the former qualities. 

He also tells us, that they are blended with the 
virtue, and all this to explain to us how that 
happens, which does not ha]3pen, that they are 
by most observers confounded with the virtue. 

The virtue, as we have seen, is in the act, and 
its consequences. How can delight, Avhich is a 



feeling in the mind, be blended with an act^ 
which is something without the mind ; and with 
the consequences of the act, which are some- 
thing posterior to the act ? To assert, however, 
an impossibility, is not more difficult to Sir J ames, 
than to assert as a matter of fact, that which 
had no existence, and against the existence of 
which he had before him incontrovertible evi- 
dence. 

Some one may take up the defence of Sir J ames, 
and say, that though the delight, which is in the 
mind, cannot be blended with the act and its con- 
sequences, which are not in the mind, it may very 
naturally and easily be blended with the ideas of 
the act and its consequences. But such a defender 
has to be informed, that his memory is short. 
Sir James has debarred himself of this resource. 
This is what he abuses Mr. Bentham for. To 
teach men to have in their minds, before acting, 
the ideas of the consequences of their acts, is to 
tell them, he says, to set the principle of utility 
always before them ; a recommendation which he 
treats with ineffable contempt. The defender 
is, indeed, right in his remark, though mistaken 
in his attempt to use it in defence of Sir James. 
It is true that the pleasurable feeling which first 
prompts to the act does call up ideas of the act 
and its consequences ; and just as these conse- 
quences are upon the whole beneficial, that is, in 
proportion as the ideas of them are pleasurable 

P 2! 



212 



ideas, is the original impulse rendered more and 
more highly pleasurable : in other words, and to 
state the conclusion more generally ; the mental 
delight which is connected with virtuous acting, 
becomes more and more intense, in proportion 
exactly as the principle of utility is more fully 
and correctly brought into play. This most im- 
portant class of associations has been analysed 
carefully by Mr. Mill, and may be understood 
by any man who reads his book ; if he does but 
read with the attention which the nature of his 
subject requires. 

Sir James does not think that he has suffi- 
ciently exalted the feelings, till he has also de- 
graded the acting. The " outward advantages 
of virtue," (which we have shewn can be nothing 
else but acts and their consequences) he says, are 
cold, uncertain, dependent, and precarious, can 
be handled and counted," and so on.- — This is Sir 
James's practical morality. — The mere fondness 
a man has for his child, the delight which an idiot 
is capable of having in the highest possible 
degree, which we are not sure that the lower 
animals have not in the highest degree, is to be 
considered of greater value, than the outward 
advantages of parental virtue, the man's hard 
and persevering labours to supply the wants of 
his child, his perpetual study of its future happi- 
ness, the care with which he watches its inward 
movements, and endeavours to impart to it those 



habits which are best calculated to render its life 
a source of happiness to itself and others. 

Every body knows, that in the mind of the 
virtuous parent, the anticipation of these con- 
sequences, " outward advantages" though they 
be, " cold," capable of being " counted," and so 
on, is the supreme delight ; that which cheers 
him in his long and tedious labours, and 
strengthens him to persevere in his virtuous 
though painful course. Sir James is too ignorant 
to see that in his gabble about the inward delights 
and the outward advantages, he excludes those 
joyous hopes from the parental affection, because 
they rest only on the " outward advantages," 
which are insignificant as motives, so says Sir 
James, " infinitely inferior," these are his very 
words, to the " inward delight," and which most 
people he says commit a great mistake in not 
separating from the " inward delight," which 
ought always to be considered as " apart " from 
them. 

Sir James having said, that the outward ad- 
vantages, obvious to the senses, have been more 
taken notice of by the vulgar, than the inward 
delights, goes on ; " there is room for suspecting 
that a very general illusion prevails on this 
subject. Probably the smallest part of the plea- 
sure of virtue, because it is the most palpable, 
has become the sign and mental representative 
of the whole. The outward and visible sign 



214 



suggests iaisensibly the inward and mental de- 
light." 

That delight which fills the breast of a virtuous 
father when he looks forward to the conse- 
quences of what he has done for his child, in the 
wise and beneficent conduct of the full grown 
man, the object of the respect and affection of all 
who know him, Sir James has the fatuity to tell 
us, is the smallest part of the pleasure which the 
father has in his parental virtue. Yet after this 
is deducted, what is it which remains ? Only 
that animal fondness, which the worst of men 
share perhaps in equal degree with the best, and 
which is enjoyed, and in perhaps not a lower 
degree, by the inferior animals. The whole of 
the delightful anticipations which spring from 
virtuous acting, the view of the extensive and 
never ending trains of beneficial consequences 
which spring from certain kinds of acting to 
myriads of men from generation to generation, 
are " perhaps," says Sir James, " the smallest 
part of the pleasure of virtue." 

Such is the result of Sir James's elaborate en- 
deavour to put the pleasure of feeling above that 
of acting. The idea of all the consequences, 
how great and glorious soever, of a course of wise 
and beneficial action, serves only to " suggest 
insensibly the inward and mental delight ; " that 
delight which is of little value, except as it pro- 
duces those " outward advantages," which Sir 



215 



James speaks of with a kind of distaste, and re- 
proaches Mr. Bentham and others for too strenu- 
ously calling upon men to regard. 

Sir James is perpetually presenting a call for 
verbal criticism. Here is an instance. Every 
body understands the fact, that an inward delight 
is often suggested by an outward object. But 
how an inward delight can be suggested " in- 
sensibly," it would have puzzled Sir James to 
explain. It seems to mean suggested without 
being suggested ; felt insensibly, is felt without 
being felt. 

Upon this exposition of the superiority of the 
inward delight to the outward advantages, Sir 
James hooks, (the Lord knows how,) a disserta- 
tion upon the love of fame. " Much of our love 
of praise," he says, " may be thus ascribed to 
humane and sociable pleasure in the sympathy of 
others with us. Praise is the symbol which re- 
presents sympathy, and which the mind insen- 
sibly substitutes for it in recollection and in 
language." 

Sir James says we have a pleasure in sympathy 
(his " humane and sociable " are here wholly 
without meaning) ; praise is the representative of 
this pleasure ; and therefore we love praise. 
Upon this shewing, the man who is most fond of 
sympathy, must be the man who is most fond of 
praise. But it is a common remark, that they 
who are most fond of praise, are not the most 



216 



careful to deserve it. On the other hand, the 
greatest benefactors of mankind have frequently 
been distinguished for contempt of praise. These 
phenomena needed explanation at the hand of Sir 
J ames. Where is it ? 

The idea of the favourable opinion of our 
fellow creatures as cause, is associated with the 
idea of a great portion of our most valuable 
pleasures, as effects. Praise, in its true nature, 
is the expression of a favourable opinion. But 
who needed Sir James to tell him, in new, and 
hardly intelligible phrase, that he loves the good 
opinion of mankind, and therefore loves to be told 
©fit? 

Having told us why we love present praise. 
Sir James proceeds to account for the love of 
posthumous fame. He says we love that also as 
the representative of sympathy. And he breaks 
out into a rhapsody in praise of this same love, 
which explains nothing. The phraseology I 
recommend to the reader's own attention ; but 
some of the things I must not pass unnoticed. 
It would have been impossible for Sir James, had 
he asked himself what he meant, not to have re- 
membered (for he had a memory) hundreds of 
instances of men seeking posthumous fame with- 
out either morality or genius. 

Sir James, consistently with his perfect 
ignorance of the subject, exults in the proof, 
which he says the love of posthumous praise 



217 



affords, of his favourite philosophy, that man has 
" disinterested desires." Yet he allows that the 
love of posthumous praise is wholly grounded on 
the desire of present praise, which surely he 
would not have had the face to say is dis- 
interested. 

Having changed the name, viz. love of praise, 
to " regard for character," he says, " men infuse 
into that word a large portion of that sense 
in which it denotes the frame of the mind." 
The word character has two meanings ; in one 
sense it is synonymous with reputation, in another 
it means the actual qualities of the mind. In the 
phrase " regard for character," it has the first 
meaning. Regard for character is regard for re^ 
putation. When we say of a man, that he is a 
noble character, it has the second meaning ; we 
affirm that he has noble qualities of mind. 
What Sir James then says, is, that when a man 
speaks of regard for his character in its sense of 
reputation, he infuses into this meaning a great 
portion of the other meaning. But could not 
Sir James have expressed this in the language of 
a Christian, and have said at once, that the desire 
of being thought to have good qualities is not 
always separate from the desire of possessing 
them? Who is ignorant of this? And where 
is the use of giving us such truisms in an almost 
unintelligible jargon ? 

He passes from the word " character," to the 



218 



word " honor," and speaks of it as admitting of 
a similar " infusion ; " the infusion of its mean- 
ing when it signifies some one's possession of 
good qualities, into its meaning when it signifies 
other men's belief in that possession. The good 
qualities, or quality, which it denotes, when it 
signifies the qualities, and not the reputation of 
them, is a certain minute attention, says Sir 
James, to small wrongs. 

But no body needs to be told, that there ought 
. to be no wrongs, either great or small, and that if 
two men are equally attentive to avoid great 
wrongs, but one of them more attentive to avoid 
small wrongs than the other, he is the better man 
of the two. This is such stuff as would not find 
its way into a pulpit exercise. 

If, however. Sir James's minute attention to 
small wrongs, means, not a minute attention to 
avoid them, in one's conduct towards others ; but 
a minute attention to resent them, in others, 
towards oneself, it is a vice, not a virtue. Is not 
Sir James an accurate writer, using words which 
leave it doubtful which of these two things he 
means to express ? 

Sir James then breaks out, and somewhat 
abruptly, into a rhapsodical eulogy of the man 
who prefers the true merit to the lying report of 
it. The meaning, here, is trite, even to puerility, 
but the wording is curious. " What heart does 
not warm at the noble exclamation of the ancient 



poet : * Who is pleased by false honour, or 
frightened by lying infamy, but he who is false 
and depraved ? ' " There is not much to warm a 
heart in beiDg told that a paltry fellow is a 
paltry fellow. But if it be so despicable to be 
pleased with undeserved praise, what is it to be 
the bes tower of it ? Every uncorrupted mind," 
says Sir James, " feels unmerited praise as a 
bitter reproach." Sir James must have rarely 
met with these " uncorrupted minds ; " for he 
was one of the boldest hands of his day at the 
unmerited praise, and I do not believe he ever, in 
any one instance, found it treated as a reproach. 

Sir James goes on : " Every uncorrupted mind 
regards a consciousness of demerit as a drop of 
poison in the cup of honour." A consciousness 
of demerit is certainly not a comfortable feeling ; 
it is however a consciousness which most men are 
very clever in escaping. Whatever their want 
of merits, they mostly contrive to keep on good 
terms with themselves. 

But what has a consciousness of demerit to do 
in the cup of honour? Honour means merit. 
Demerit is therefore the negation of it. If 
honour here only means the praise of honourable- 
ness, the man who does not deserve it is a 
despicable person, if he has pleasure in receiving 
it. But this is precisely what he told us before, 
without his " cup," and his " drop." Observe 
that the " cup of honour," in this beautiful 



220 



metaphor, means undeserved reputation, and the 
knowledge that it is undeserved is a drop of 
poison in it. This cup would have been a 
salutary draught, it seems, except for the know- 
ledge, but that makes it poisonous. Undeserved 
praise, when a man knows not that it is un- 
deserved, is no bad cup ; when he does know, a 
drop of poison is in it. 

Sir James having thus supported his charge 
against Mr. Bentham, and those whom he classes 
with him, that they did not set the " inward 
delight " far above the " outward advantages ; " 
that is, fine feeling above virtuous acting, comes 
now to the second count in his indictment, that 
they overlooked entirely the effect of virtuous 
acting upon the mind. 

I do not think it was possible even for Sir 
James, though his daring in this particular is not 
easily matched, to have made an affirmation so 
utterly at variance with evidence, had he known 
what was in the works of Mr. Bentham and 
Mr. Mill ; because he could not have hoped to 
escape detection and disgrace. And Sir James's 
ignorance of the books he criticizes is so far from 
being a difficult supposition, that the fact is mani- 
fest in almost every page of his work. 

The accusation against Mr. Mill, that he 
entirely overlooked the effect on the mind pro- 
duced by acting ; the man who first had ex- 
pounded that effect successfully, by shewing that 



221 



qffectmis are associations formed of the ideas of 
pleasures and the cavises of them ; that the asso- 
ciations formed of the ideas of pleasures or the 
causes of them and of an act of our own as cause 
of either, are motives ; and that a facility of form- 
ing this last association, to be acquired solely by 
repetition, that is, frequent obedience to the 
motive, that is, frequent acting, is disposition — 
is something so outrageous, that ordinary dis- 
regard of the distinction between truth and false- 
hood will not account for it. 

Sir James seems to have thought of nothing 
but a mysterious jargon ; and when he had com- 
passed that, and could work it for praise or blame 
in any quarter, as he listed, alias lusted, to have 
felt satisfied with himself, as a man in the full 
enjoyment of his object. It seems never to have 
crossed his brain, that what he was charging 
against these writers, in the wonderful language 
we shall afterwards hear, is only this, that they 
were ignorant of that of which nobody is igno- 
rant, the power of habit ; or, at least, did not 
think habits of obeying the motives to virtuous 
acting, that is, dispositions, as expounded by 
Mr. Mill, a matter of importance. If this accusa- 
tion had been true, every body sees what a deep 
condemnation it would have inferred. When it 
is utterly untrue, and against glaring evidence, 
what does it infer against the man who brought 
it? 



222 



Sir James begins : — " They who have most 
inculcated the doctrine of utility have given an- 
other notable example of the very vulgar preju- 
dice which treats the unseen as insignificant." 
" The unseen" here means the habits acquired by 
repetition of virtuous acts. He accuses " those 
who have most inculcated the doctrine of utility," 
of treating good habits (" the unseen ") as " insig- 
nificant;" and he calls this a case of a vulerar 
prejudice. On the contrary, the vulgar are re- 
markable for making too much of the unseen;" 
witness their ideas of ghosts, devils, and so on. 
At all events, there is no man so vulgar as to 
overlook the power of habit. 

Sir James proceeds : — " Tucker is the only one 
of them who occasionally considers that most 
important effect of human conduct which consists 
in its action on the frame of the mind, by fitting its 
faculties and sensibilities for their appointed pur- 
pose." This is the Sir-Jamesical mode of saying, 
that frequent acting produces habit. Observe 
the words, and how they stand. He says, that 
"the action of human conduct fits the faculties and 
sensibilities of the mind for their appointed pur- 
pose ; " that is, gives good habits. Sir James 
never reflected, that there are many modes of 
human conduct which give bad habits, and not 
good. Sir James, then, meant good conduct, and 
did not know how to express himself. 

Sir James says, " the action of human conduct 



223 



on the mind," that is, the effect of it ; when one 
thing acts on another, it means that it has effect 
on it. Sir James's affirmation, then, is, " that 
the effect of human conduct on the frame of the 
mind consists in" its effect on it. — Sir James calls 
good habits " faculties and sensibilities of mind 
fitted for their appointed purpose." This is pro- 
found instruction. Are his faculties, and sen- 
sibilities, the same, or different ? And if different, 
wherein do they differ? Sir James is silent. One 
faculty of the mind is dreaming. How is that 
"fitted to its purpose" by " that most important 
effect of human conduct which consists in its effect 
on the frame of the mind, by fitting its faculties 
and sensibilities to their purpose ? " The fear of 
ghosts is one of the sensibilities of the mind, and 
the smell of a rose is another. How are these 
fitted to their purpose by the action of human 
conduct on the mind ? This is very needless 
work, as regards the subject. But the exposure 
of a successful pretender, of this kind, is not 
needless. 

Sir James goes on illustrating the importance 
of forming good habits, in a manner truly his 
own. " A razor or a penknife would well enough 
cut cloth, or meat ; but if they were often so used 
they would be entirely spoiled." Reader, this 
gives you real insight (does it not), into the for- 
mation and use of good habits. " The same sort 
of observation" (the same as that about the 



224 



razor) " is much more strongly applicable to 
habitual dispositions" (a disposition, though Sir 
James did not know so much, is a habit, habitual 
disposition, therefore, is habitual habit, that is, 
simply habit), " which if they be spoiled, we have 
no certain means of replacing or mending." 

Nobody needed the razor and the penknife, 
cutting cloth and meat, to make him comprehend 
the evil of losing good habits. There is not a 
tailor's wife who does not inculcate this upon her 
child. Losing a good habit. Sir James calls 
" spoiling," by his usual infelicity of expression. 
A good habit may be lost, and a bad one may be 
acquired in its stead ; but spoiling a habit is non- 
sense. And when spoiled he says, " we have no 
certain means of replacing or mending it." Had 
Sir James ever reflected at all he could not but 
have known, that there are certain means of reco- 
vering good habits which have been lost, as well 
as of correcting bad ones, which have been ac- 
quired. Is any thing more common, even in the 
mouths of the common people, than the expostu- 
lation to one another, why do you not break 
yourself of that bad habit ? 

Sir James invents another phrase, to tell us 
once more, as if we did not know it already, that 
the loss of a good habit is the loss of a very good 
thing. " Whatever act, therefore, discomposes 
the moral machinery of mind " (what a name for 
good habits !) " is more injurious to the welfare 



225 

of the agent," &c. Granted. The xoss of good 
habits, if it extends to any considerable number, 
is the greatest of misfortunes ; and every body 
knows it But Sir James shews great ignorance, 
when he speaks of a single act, as breaking up a 
habit. Habits are lost, as they are acquired, only 
by repetition. 

Sir J ames has a new invented phraseology also, 
to tell us that a set of good habits is a very good 
thing. " Health of mind " (that is the name for 
the set) " is not only productive in itself of a 
greater sum of enjoyments than arises from other 
sources ; but is the only condition of our frame 
in which we are capable of receiving pleasures 
from without." This is as much as to tell us, 
that we have no pleasures, either from within or 
without, but what are derived from good habits. 

It is remarkable, that a man could be found, 
ignorant that a habit never created a pleasure in 
its life. Good habits are those courses of action, 
by which the pleasures from nature's sources are 
in greatest abundance made ours. 

It is not true that good habits are " the only 
condition of our frame in which we are capable of 
receiving pleasure from without." The very 
worst of men, who of course are the men most 
devoid of good habits, are susceptible of very 
intense pleasure both from without and within. 
The consequence of the want of good habits, in 
any man, is, that the suin of his enjoyments is 

Q 



226 



much less, and of his pains much greater, than 
otherwise it would have been. 

Sir James could not, it should seem, prevail 
upon himself to come to a pause in his panegyric 
on good habits. He knew of a thing, which is 
not nearly so good as good habits, that is, " a 
present interest." He says, there are some people, 
meaning Mr. Bentham, and those whom in his 
bounty he gives him as followers, who were so 
foolish as not to know this ; and foolish, in that 
case, they must indeed have been ; for if good 
habits are the means of compassing the greatest 
sum of pleasures, to say that one pleasure, or 
source of pleasures, is equal to them, is only to 
say that the whole is not greater than one of its 
parts. 

This is nonsense sufficiently pure ; but we 
come to something next which I really think is 
better. When they " (habits) " are most moral," 
that is, I suppose, when they are of a kind to 
produce the greatest sum of pleasures, " they 
may often prevent us from obtaining advan- 
tages ; " undoubtedly, viz., by the sacrifice of the 
less to the greater, and not otherwise. 

And " it would be absurd," Sir James says, 
" to desire to lower them for that reason." If by 
lowering a habit (a strange expression). Sir James 
meant, making it less perfect ; to make a habit 
less perfect, because it gives us the greater plea- 
sure, instead of the less ; that is, to make it less 



227 

an instrument of good, he might well pronounce 
absurd, such an absurdity as human being never 
yet was guilty of. 

Sir James, having thus advanced, and thus 
supported, his accusation against Mr. Bentham 
and those whom he associates with him, that 
they did not know the value of good habits, nor 
the mode of their formation, proceeds a step 
farther, and affirms, that they preach a doctrine 
which goes to the destruction of good habits, 

" It is impossible," he says, " to combine the 
benefit of the general habit with the advantages 
of occasional deviation." And then he proceeds, 
in Sir Jamesical phrase, to prove to us this 
recondite proposition, that the way to weaken a 
habit, is to act contrary to it. Before, however, 
he comes to apply his charge to his intended 
victims, Sir James philosophizes a little. " The 
infirmity of recollection," he says, " aggravated 
by the defects of language, gives an appearance of 
more selfishness to man than truly belongs to his 
nature ; and the effect of active agents upon the 
habitual state of mind, one of the considerations 
to which the epithet sentimental has of late been 
applied in derision, is really among the most 
serious and reasonable objects of moral philo- 
sophy." 

Sir J ames's first observation is too profound for 
me ; that because man's memory is not good, and 
his language an imperfect instrument, therefore 

Q 2 



^28 

he appears more selfish than he is. First of all, 
as to the fact : — Does man appear more selfish 
than he is ? I am afraid he much more fre- 
quently appears more benevolent than he is. 
But if there were such a delusion, how badness 
of memory, and imperfection of language, would 
account for it, I confess myself unable to under- 
stand. Nor does Sir James help me a whit 
by saying, it is manifest from what he had 
said before. What he had said before was, that 
an act in opposition to a good habit does great 
injury to the mind. But that has no bearing 
that I can see upon the question of the disinter- 
estedness, or selfishness, of human nature. 

His other penetrating observation is, that " the 
effect of active agents upon the habitual state of 
mind, is among the most serious and reasonable 
objects of moral philosophy." Now, first of all, 
we need to be told what " those active agents " 
here spoken of, which work upon the mind, are. 
Does he mean other men ? Undoubtedly they are 
the grand class of agents which produce effects on 
each man's mind. But no human being ever 
doubted, that the mode in which the mind of 
man is acted on by his fellow creatures is amon^ 
the most important objects of philosophical in- 
quiry. And assuredly, no person ever applied 
the epithet sentimental to such inquiry, either in 
derision, or otherwise. Besides, what has such 
an observation to do with the subject our philo- 



229 



sopher is upon, viz., the effect produced upon 
ea.di man's mind by his own act ? Upon my 
life, I believe, incredible as it may seem, that 
Sir James's active agents are no other than the 
agent's own acts. A man acts ; these acts, Sir 
James says, have eflfects on the man's mind ; and 
thence he calls these acts " active agents." 

We have seen that the effects, beyond the 
merely temporary effects, produced by a man's 
acts on his own mind, are habits. Now where 
is the use of telling us (in whatever prodigy of 
phrase) that habits are acquired, and also altered, 
by acting ; and that the mode of their formation 
is an important topic in philosophy ? Was this 
ever doubted ? When Sir James says, that the 
consideration of men's acts as the cause of their 
habits, has been called senthnentcil , he speaks 
without book. This was never called sentimental 
in this world. 

Sir James inserts here (for what purpose is not 
visible) a re-statement of his doctrine, that the 
fine feelings of the agent are of infinitely more 
importance than his acts. Sir James is never 
tired of inculcating that doctrine. And his 
words on this occasion deserve notice, because 
they are more explicit than ordinary. He says, 
" When the internal pleasures and pains which 
accompany good and bad feelings, or, rather, form 
a part of them, and the external advantages and 
disadvantages which follow good and bad actions. 



2S0 



are sufficiently considered, the comparative im- 
portance of outward consequences will be more 
and more narrowed." Good God ! What a 
doctrine is this ? Good actions, and all their 
effects, all the happiness which human beings 
derive from the good actions of one another ; in 
fact, almost all the happiness which it is given to 
them to enjoy; is insignificant, compared with 
certain pleasurable states of mind antecedent to 
action. From this doctrine it follows, that if the 
feelings did but exist in perfection, it would be a 
matter of little or no importance, whether there 
were any good actions or not. — Observe on what, 
in his blindness. Sir James stumbles next. " So 
that the Stoical philosophy may be thought 
almost excusable for rejecting it altogether, were 
it not an indispensably necessary consideration 
for those in whom right habits of feeling are not 
sufficiently strong. They alone are happy, or 
even truly virtuous, who have little need of it." 
The meaning is, that if a man has " the right 
habits of feeling," he is truly virtuous and happy, 
whether he acts or does not act, and whether he 
acts so as to produce good or evil effects. I do 
not accuse him of meaning this. He had a mind 
incapable of knowing the import of what he said. 

He cannot touch even upon the Stoical philo- 
sophy, without marring it. Does he suppose that 
the Stoics altogether rejected the importance of 
acts ? if " rejecting importance " has any meaning. 



231 



Any man who knows English would have said, 
" denying the importance." The Stoics were so far 
from denying the importance of right acting, that 
they thought nothing else was important. The 
Stoics troubled themselves little with Sir James's 
delights, the companions or the parts (Sir James 
knows not which) of his feelings. They were 
remarkable for holding them in contempt. What 
they taught was this ; that when a man acted 
with good intention, but was disappointed of the 
effects he intended, by circumstances over which 
he had no controul, the merit of his act was not 
lessened, nor the self-satisfaction he was entitled 
to entertain. To misrepresent such a doctrine in 
such a way is a sample of Sir James. This is 
his established mode of dealing with other men's 
doctrines. 

Does it not seem incredible, that a man should 
have been found, who could not see, that all the 
value of acts consists in the consequences of the 
acts ; that if the acts are detached from their 
consequences, they are unmeaning contractions of 
muscles, and had as well not be performed ; and 
that if any being performs those contractions 
without a regard to the consequences, such a 
being ranks with mere animal nature ? 

Some of Sir J ames's phrases would need remark, 
if it were not intolerable to remark on every 
thing in a long train of absurdities. His talking 
of a feeling as one thing, and the pleasure of it 



232 



as another, has been already exposed. We shall 
advert to one more, " that the consideration of 
consequences is necessary for those in whom 
right habits of feeling are not sufficiently strong." 
Why is the consideration of consequences neces- 
sary to them ? If consequences are of little im- 
portance, how can the consideration of them be of 
any, either to those who have, or those who have 
not, " right habits of feeling?" Again, how can 
right habits of feeling make the consideration of 
consequences of less importance ? Are the con- 
sequences of a man's acts less important, in pro- 
portion as the man has more of the right habits 
of feeling ? Once more ; what does Sir James 
mean by " right habits of feeling ? " Habits of 
right feeling is the proper expression. But what 
is right feeling, and what is wrong ? A feeling, 
in itself, can neither be right, nor wrong. Its 
being a feeling is its whole essence, and its 
qualities are to be pleasurable, painful, or in- 
different. If it prompts to good actions, it may, 
as cause of the action, get metaphorically the 
name of good, as in the opposite case that of evil. 
But acts are good or bad because of their con- 
sequences. Feelings, therefore, are good or bad, 
because of the consequences of the acts of which 
they are the cause. Yet observe the sagacity of 
Sir James. Good feelings, he says, render all 
regard to consequences unnecessary; though ^:he 
feelings are good only in consequence of that 



23S 



regard. Good feelings render that unnecessary, 
which is necessary; viz. to their own existence. 
How triumphantly Sir James establishes the bad- 
ness of the ethical system of Mr. Bentham and 
Mr. Mill ! 

We now come to something which is of the 
nature of a recapitulation of Sir James's charges, 
with corollaries. 

" The later moralists who adopt the principle 
of utility have so misplaced it " (the italics are 
Sir James's own) " that in their hands it has as 
great a tendency as any theoretical error can have 
to lessen the intrinsic pleasure of virtue, and to 
unfit our habitual feelings for being the most 
effectual inducements to good conduct. This is 
the natural tendency of a discipline which brings 
utility too closely and frequently into contact 
with action. By this habit, in its best state, an 
essentially weaker motive is gradually substituted 
for others which must always be of more force. 
The frequent appeal to utility as the standard of 
action tends to introduce an uncertainty with 
respect to the conduct of other men, which 
would render all intercourse insupportable. It 
affords also so fair a disguise for selfish and 
malignant passions, as often to hide their nature 
from him who is their prey. Some taint of these 
mean and evil principles will at least creep in, 
and by their venom give an animation not its own 
to the cold desire of utility. The moralists who 



234 



take an active part in these affairs which often 
call out unenviable passions, ought to guard with 
peculiar watchfulness against such self-delusions." 

Now, then, for the sense of these accusatory 
phrases. 

All but the last part is poor repetition. It is 
the same trash which we had at the beginning of 
Sir James's outpourings against the system of 
Mr. Bentham ; that he required the principle of 
utility to be brought too constantly before us ; 
" the radical error, in which Mr. Bentham fell 
into fundamental errors." So Sir James was 
pleased to express himself. 

Having before shewn, that to make an act good, 
it is the intention, not the motive, into which the 
consideration of utility enters ; that the intention 
is wholly made up of it ; but that in the motive 
it is often altogether wanting ; that Sir James 
confounded motive with intention ; and by in- 
cluding all virtue in the motive, and treating 
good intention as insignificant, did in fact subvert 
morality, — we have only to attend here to certain 
wonderful expressions he uses, and certain won- 
derful consequences which he ascribes to the 
doctrine, that good intention is a necessary in- 
gredient in a moral act. 

Sir James says, that Mr. Bentham, and certain 
others, no better than he, have misplaced the 
principle of utility. It is not very easy to 
know what is meant by misplacing a principle. 



2S5 

The only error he specifically imputes to them is 
that of applying the principle too frequently, re- 
ferring to it for guidance too often. This is only 
telling them that they are too careful not to per- 
form immoral acts. . 

Sir James says, that this is substituting the 
principle of utility for other motives. He had 
not the sense to see, that in this he was contend- 
ing against what he had been lauding in Butler 
as a wonderful discovery ; that the dictate of con- 
science ought to prevail over all motives, and 
that the dictate of conscience was nothing but 
the choice of the greatest good. 

To say, that men ought to act on most occasions 
without regard to the principle of utility, is merely 
to say, that they ought to act without good in- 
tention, that is, without regard to the dictates of 
a well informed conscience ; trusting entirely to 
some of the inferior impulses of their nature. 
According to Sir James, conscience is a useless 
part of our inward constitution ; useless, or 
rather deeply hurtful on all, except some rare 
occasions. In general, all that is necessary, or 
good, is to have certain feelings. 

This vigilant attention to the dictates of con- 
science, which Sir James calls " bringing utility 
too closely and frequently into contact with 
action " (a phrase truly Sir Jamesical) " lessens," 
he says, " the intrinsic pleasure of virtue." 
What Sir James means by " the intrinsic 



236 



pleasure of virtue," he does not say. One 
pleasure at least he cannot mean— and that not 
an insignificant one, whatever Sir James may 
think ; the testimony of a good conscience, be- 
cause that belongs only to him who has brought 
utility into contact with his action," which either 
means nothing at all, or means the having taken 
care that his action has not violated utility ; in 
other words, has been agreeable to the dictates of 
a well informed conscience. 

According to the tenor of Sir James's talk, we 
must suppose him to mean by his " intrinsic 
pleasure of virtue," the " delights " we have 
heard so much about, which " accompany," or 
" form a part of " the feelings which precede 
action, in other words, motives. But it is difficult 
to conceive what the brain of Sir James was 
about, when he affirmed that a consideration of 
the consequences of the act to which the motive 
incites could possibly alter the qualities of the 
motive, pleasurable, or painful When a man is 
incited to perform an act, by gratitude, or pity, or 
friendship, or the conjugal, parental, or filial 
affection, a consideration whether the act is 
proper or not, that is, whether its consequences 
are good or bad ; that is, " bringing utility into 
contact with it," to use that most ridiculous of 
phrases, assuredly leaves the gratitude, the pity, 
the friendship, &c. just what they were, neither 
more pleasurable, nor less. A motive is not less 



237 



a motive, when it is met by counter-considera- 
tions, than when it is not. 

This consideration of consequences, this listen- 
ing attentively to the dictates of conscience, not 
only alters (so says Sir James) the quality of the 
motive, though it has no operation upon it at all, 
but does another thing, not less wonderful ; " it 
unfits our habitual feelings for being the most 
effectual inducements to good conduct." This is 
the same assertion over again, in not less won- 
derful phrase ; and certainly one more devoid of 
sense never dribbled from a goose quill. Let 
gratitude, &c., which are his habitual feelings, be 
motives of any force he pleases, they are capable 
of inciting to bad actions, as well as good. Does, 
then, the consideration, whether the act to which 
any of them is inciting, be a good act or a bad 
act, unfit them for being incentives to good acts ? 
It does not look so much like ignorance and folly 
to make such an assertion, as pure insanity. In 
every case in which they are inciting to good 
conduct this consideration affords them the im- 
portant sanction of conscience, and thus gives its 
utmost strength to their action. It is only when 
they are inciting to bad actions that they are 
opposed by the consideration of consequences, 
which is but another name for the dictate of con- 
science. 

One may well take up toward the principle of 
utility, the words in which Boileau addressed his 



288 

Maker ; " Mon Dieu, que vous avez de sots 
ennemies ! " 

That which Sir James gives us next is a case 
in point. " The frequent appeal to utility as the 
standard of action," that is, the consideration 
whether an act is to produce evil or good, 
" tends," he says, " to introduce an uncertainty 
with respect to the conduct of other men, which 
would render all intercourse insupportable." If 
one did not positively see this, one would have 
believed it impossible, that such a proposition 
could have been written, by a person in his 
senses. That which all other men, from the 
beginning of time, have regarded as the only 
thing which gives steadiness and certainty to 
human action. Sir James had an intellect, or 
something else in lieu of it, capable of affirming 
is the very thing which takes it away. Just in 
proportion as a man is expected to look to the 
consequences of his acts, and to guide them by a 
rule, in that exact proportion can his actions be 
foreseen and counted upon. If a man acts merely 
from impulses, even those which Sir James calls 
the habitual feelings, the impulses, for example, of 
pity, love, gratitude, and so on, all that we know 
of him is, that he will most commonly be trying 
to do good to some individual or individuals, but 
whether in any instance he may not be doing the 
greatest evil to others, since he " brings not 
utility into contact with action," that is, does not 



consult the rule of right, we can have no cer- 
tainty whatsoever. This, if general, would most 
assuredly " render all intercourse insupportable /' 
Sir James's accusations assume a blacker hue 
as he goes on. " The frequent appeal to utility 
affords so fair a disguise for selfish and malig- 
nant passions, as often to hide their nature from 
him who is their prey." Sir James had it deeply 
at heart to get " the later moralists who adopt 
the principle of utility " to be thought odious, as 
well as contemptible. The difficulty here is to 
find even a shadow of connection between t?ie 
supposed cause and effect. There is some plausi- 
bility, to those at least who judge by words, not 
the meaning of them, in the assertion that too 
much attention to utility takes away attention 
from other things. But that good intention, for 
which the appeal to utility is but another name, 
should afford a disguise, or motive (for it is the 
latter he means), to " selfish and malignant 
passions," is the most monstrous proposition, that 
any thing in the shape of a rational creature ever 
produced. That incessant care, on the part of 
him who acts, that every thing he does, from 
whatever motive, shall be productive of good, not 
evil, should have a tendency to make him an evil- 
doer of the worst description, is an affirmation 
which could only be taken for an excessively bad 
joke, if the weakness of Sir James, under a strong 
temptation, were not competent to account even 



240 



for this. Yet it is the assertion, that a con- " 
scientious man is drawn, by his good conscience^ 
to be selfish and malignant ; in other words, that 
a man earnestly intending to do good, does 
thereby intend to do evil. 

" Some taint of these mean and selfish prin- 
ciples will at least creep in." This we must 
suppose to have a particular application, other- 
wise it would be impertinent. Where would be 
the use, in an attack upon the teachers of utility, 
of telling us, that men in general have some 
tendency to malignity ? What he means is, that 
the frequent appeal to utility has a tendency to 
make men malignant. 

The proposition is so utterly irrational, that it 
is substantially a contradiction in terms. When 
men are malignant, they are seeking to do evil ; 
when they are appealing to utility, they are seek- 
ing to do good, and making the best use of their 
lights to ensure their object. By intending to do 
good, says Sir James, men are made, to intend to 
do evil. The stupidity of this accusation is not 
its worst quality ; the immorality of it, is what 
deserves attention the most. 

One feels it as rather a petty business to 
descend from the matter of such accusations to 
the terms in which they are couched. But the 
terms are here so exquisitely Sir Jamesical, that 
they ought not to be overlooked. 

" Some taint." Taint is here a metaphorical 



^41 

expression. It means literally something which 
tinges. " The mean and malignant passions" 
are therefore, first of all, a substance which 
tinges. This substance which tinges will creep," 
It is thus converted from a stuff which tinges 
into a reptile which creeps. " Some taint of 
these mean and evil principles will at least creep 
in, and by their venom give an animation not its 
own to the cold desire of utility." Taint is in this 
sentence the nominative to the verb " will give." 
" Their venom " must mean the venom of the 
mean and malignant passions. Now for the 
union of these phrases. The taint " of these 
passions, the tinging matter, after having become 
a reptile, and crept in (where is not said) 
does, by the venom of these passions (the taint 
of a thing acting by the venom of it), what? 

Give an animation, not its own, to the cold 
desire of utility." To give animation to a 
desire, I suppose, means to increase it. And an 
animation, " not its own," must be an extraor- 
dinary increase. Now, then ; the taint of the 
selfish and malignant passions, acting by the venom 
of the same passions, increases to an extraor- 
dinary degree a desire. And what desire ? 
" The desire of utility;" or of the greatest 
quantity of good. In other words, the malig- 
nant passions, which mean the desire of evil, 
increase to the greatest degree the desire of good. 

Sir James now proceeds to wind up ; and 

n 



24^ 

assuredly finds a sufficient amount of evil qualities 
in " the late moralists who adopt the principles 
of utility," and in the doctrine which they teach, 
to fix upon them the hatred and indignation of 
mankind. 

After telling us, that they are tainted with evil 
principles, namely, the selfish and malignant 
passions, he says, that those of them who " take 
an active part in these affairs, which often call 
out unamiable passions," that is, who write on 
politics, " ought to guard with peculiar watch- 
fulness against such self-delusions." Did Sir 
James know any of them who had not so guarded 
himself? He did not. But the man who could 
make such an insinuation, without grounds, and 
point it against individuals, would deserve the 
detestation of mankind, if every other feeling 
were not precluded by contempt. 

We have here another taste of the Sir Jamesical 
lingo. " Passions," he calls " self-delusions : " 
States of mind, radically dissimilar. 

He goes on. Under these malignant passions, 
" the sin that must most easily beset them, is 
that of sliding from general to particular con- 
sequences, — that of trying single actions, instead 
of dispositions, habits, and rules, by the standard 
of utility, — that of authorizing too great a lati- 
tude for discretion and policy in moral conduct, — 
that of readily allowing exceptions to the most 
important rules, — that of too lenient a censure 



243 



of the use of doubtful means where the end 
seems to them good, — and that of believing, un^ 
philosophically, as well as dangerously, that there 
can be any measure or scheme so useful to the 
world as the existence of men who would not do 
a base thing for any public advantage. It was 
said of Andrew Fletcher, he would lose his life to 
serve his country, but he would not do a base 
thing to save it."" 

This sin which " must most easily beset" the 
persons whom Sir James is at such pains to de- 
fame ; that is, according to the natural interpre- 
tation of the phrase, a sin with which they are 
strongly polluted, is a very multifarious sin. 
We shall take it piece-meal^ as Sir James presents 
it to us. 

" The sin of sliding from general, to particular 
consequences." In the first place, we have to 
inquire, what is meant by general and particular 
consequences. A consequence is an event ; but 
all events are particular. It is true, however, 
that consequences may be classed ; and a class 
may have a name, and the name of the class may 
be the same with the name of the individual. 
But where did Sir James find any harm in sliding 
from the class to the individual ? To do so, is 
the main use of classification ; viz., that we may 
get propositions which are true of a number (the 
greater the better) of particulars, and which 
may be applied to each of them, wheresoever, and 

R 2 



2M 

as often as, occasion requires. As an imputation, 
this is only proof of disgraceful ignorance. 

" The sin of trying single actions, instead of 
dispositions, habits, and rules, by the standard of 
utility." To try any thing by the standard of 
utility, is, I suppose, to consider whether it is 
useful or not. That, I think, is the translation 
here of the Sir Jamesical tongue. Well, we may 
consider, it seems, whether dispositions, habits, 
and rules, are useful. But Sir James will not let 
us consider whether single actions are useful ; we 
must perform them, without any regard to their 
consequences, good or bad ; that is, as we have 
already shewn, without any regard to the rule of 
right, renouncing entirely that authority of con- 
science, which Sir James talked of in such 
strains, when he was letting off his phrases about 
Bishop Butler. This, therefore, is the old dish, 
hashed up again. 

In considering, however, whether '^disposi- 
tions and habits" are good or bad (Sir James did 
not know, though he pretends to have read 
Mr. Mill, that dispositions are habits), what is it 
that we do ? Is it not to consider, whether the 
acts to which they lead are good or bad ? But 
how are we to judge whether acts be good 
or bad, but by the consideration of their conse- 
quences ? That trying, therefore, of ^' single 
acts," which Sir James repudiates, is absolutely 
necessary to that trying of dispositions, which 



245 

he seems to recommend. The blindness of poor 
Sir James, his inability to see the most obvious 
consequences of his words, is a source of never- 
ceasing astonishment. — He treats afterwards of 
rules (though he here jumbles them with habits), 
under another form of the " besetting sin ; " and 
when we come to them, I sjiall speak of what he 
says, in the manner it deserves. 

" The sin of authorizing too great a latitude 
for discretion and policy in moral conduct." 
This is a foul imputation. That is to say, it is 
defamatory, and it is without a shadow of foun- 
dation, as regards either the individuals aimed 
at, or the doctrine. To authorize too great a 
latitude in moral action means to license immoral 
acts. First, for the doctrine. Where does the 
doctrine of utility license an immoral act ? The 
doctrine of Sir James, that actions may be per- 
formed without a regard to their consequences, 
does indeed license immoral acts, and that to a 
notable extent. What is a bad act, but an 
act which has bad consequences ? What is a 
good act, but an act which has good conse- 
quences ? The application, therefore, of the 
principle of utility is the only effectual security 
against that latitude, of which Sir James says 
it is the cause. Now, as to the individuals ; 
what evidence had Sir James, that any one 
of them ever authorized a latitude for im- 
moral acts ? Not a particle. And after that, I 



leave it to others to affix the proper name to 
his act. 

" The sin of readily allowing exceptions to the 
most important rules." Did Sir James know any 
thing of one of the most important of all rules, 
the rule of making exceptions ? Not he. The 
more proper question, indeed, would be, what 
did he know ? Yet he had certainly heard the 
vulgar adage, that there is no rule without excep- 
tions. But why should it be imputed as a sin 
to the assertors of utility, that they readily allow 
what ought to be allowed ; namely, all proper 
exceptions to all rules, important, or not im- 
portant ? If there are proper and improper ex- 
ceptions, why did not Sir J ames distinguish them ? 
And if the assertors of utility allowed improper 
ones, why did he not point them out ? It better 
suited Sir James to insinuate gratuitously, that 
they did make improper ones. 

I shall confine myself to rules of morality^ 
which alone concern us here. There is no ex- 
ception to a rule of morality, but what is made 
by a rule of morality ; when a man cannot yield 
obedience to one rule, without withholding obe- 
dience from another. Was Sir James so ignorant 
as not to know that there are such cases ? And 
that they are so numerous as to cover a large 
portion of the field of human action ? 

The subject of moral rules, and the exceptions 
to them, has been considered with much diligence, 



247 

and expounded in great detail, though with not 
much of the light of philosophy, by the class of 
ethical writers who have obtained the name of 
casuists, some of whom to very great industry 
added very great powers of mind. And the sub- 
ject is of so much importance, that I am willing 
to risk the charge of tediousness, by endea- 
vouring to remove the confusion in which Sir 
James, and writers of his stamp, labour to in- 
volve it, 

Sir James should have begun by asking, which 
he seems never to have done, what a general rule 
is ? A rule prescribes what is to be done ; but 
how ? Not what is to be done in one instance. 
What then ? What is to be done in a class of 
instances. This is material. A general rule 
respects a class. Before a rule can be made> 
therefore, classification must be performed. 

Classification is a subject of the highest im- 
portance. In the process of classification there 
are things, to which it is necessary to pay the 
greatest attention. Sir James would have known 
the value of these things, had he read, as he 
pretended to have done, Mr. Mills Analysis; 
where mistakes are cleared up, which have done 
more to perpetuate darkness on the subject of 
mind, than any other cause, perhaps than all other 
causes taken together. 

Nature makes no classes. Nature makes indir 
vidualso Classes are made by men ; and rarely 



us 

with such marks as determine certainly what is 
to be included in them. 

Men make classifications, as they do every 
thing else, for some end. Now, for what end was 
it that men, out of their innumerable acts, selected 
a class, to which they gave the name of moral, 
and another class, to which they gave the name of 
immoral ? What was the motive of this act ? 
What its final cause ? 

Assuredly the answer to this question is the 
first step, though Sir James saw it not, towards 
the solution of his two questions, comprehending 
the whole of ethical science ; first, what makes an 
act to be moral ? and secondly, what are the sen- 
timents with which we regard it? 

We may also be assured, that it was some very 
obvious interest, which recommended this classifi- 
cation ; for it was performed, in a certain rough 
way, in the very rudest states of society. 

Farther, we may easily see how, even in very 
rude states, men were led to it, by little less than 
necessity. Every day of their lives they had ex- 
perience of acts, some of which were agreeable^ 
or the cause of what was agreeable, to them ; 
others disagreeable, or the cause of what was 
disagreeable to them, in all possible degrees. 

They had no stronger interest than to obtain 
the repetition of the one sort, and to prevent the 
repetition of the other. 

The acts in which they were thus interested 



^49 



were of two sorts ; first, those to which the actor 
was led by a natural interest of his own ; se- 
condly, those to which the actor was not led by 
any interest of his own. About the first sort 
there was not occasion for any particular concern. 
They were pretty sure to take place, without any 
stimulus from without. The second sort, on the 
contrary, were not likely to take place, unless an 
interest was artificially created, sufficiently strong 
to induce the actor to perform them. 

And here we clearly perceive the origin of that 
important case of classification which, before 
talking of moral rules, Sir James ought to have 
well understood ; the classification of acts as 
moral, and immoral. The acts, which it was im- 
portant to other men that each individual should 
perform, but in which the individual had not a 
sufficient interest to secure the performance of 
them, were constituted one class. The acts, which 
it was important to other men that each indi- 
vidual should abstain from, but in regard to 
which he had not a personal interest sufficiently 
strong to secure his abstaining from them, were 
constituted another class. The first class were 
distinguished by the name moral acts ; the second, 
by the name immoral. 

The interest which men had in securing the 
performance of the one set of acts, the non-per- 
formance of the other, led them by a sort of 
necessity to think of the means. They had to 



250 



create an interest, which the actor would not 
otherwise have, in the performance of the one 
sort, the non-performance of the other. And in 
proceeding to this end, they could not easily miss 
their way. They had two powers applicable to 
the purpose. They had a certain quantity of 
good at their disposal; and they had a certain 
quantity of evil. If they could apply the good in 
such a manner as to afford a motive both for the 
performance and non-performance which they 
desired, or the evil, in such a manner, as to afford 
a motive against the performance and non-per- 
formance which they wished to prevent, their end 
was attained. 

And this is the scheme which they adopted ; 
and which, in every situation, they have invariably 
pursued. The whole business of the moral sen- 
timents, moral approbation, and disapprobation, 
has this for its object, the distribution of the good 
and evil we have at command, for the production 
of acts of the useful sort, the prevention of acts of 
the contrary sort. Can there be a nobler object ? 

But though men have been thus always right 
in their general aim, their proceedings have been 
cruelly defective in the detail ; witness the conse- 
quence, — the paucity of good acts, the frequency - 
of bad acts, which there is in the world. 

A portion of acts having thus been classed into, 
good and bad ; and the utility having been per- 
ceived of creating motives to incite to the one. 



251 



and restrain from the other, a sub-classification 
was introduced. One portion of these acts was 
such, that the good and evil available for their 
production and prevention, could be applied by 
the community in its conjunct capacity. Another 
portion was such, that the good and evil available 
could be applied only by individuals in their in- 
dividual capacity. The first portion was placed 
under the control of what is called law ; the other 
remained under the control of the moral senti- 
ments ; that is, the distribution of good and evil, 
made by individuals in their individual capacity. 

No sooner was the class made, than the rule 
followed. Moral acts are to be performed ; im- 
moral acts are to be abstained from. 

Beside this the general rule, there was needed, 
for more precise direction, particular rules. 

We must remember the fundamental condition, 
that all rules of action must be preceded by a 
corresponding classification of actions. All moral 
rules, comprehended in the great moral rule, 
must relate to a class of actions comprehended 
within the grand class, constituted and marked 
by the term moral. This is the case with grand 
classes in general. They are subdivided into 
minor classes, each of the minor classes being a 
portion of the larger. Thus, the grand class of 
acts called moral has been divided into certain 
convenient portions, or sub-classes, and marked 
by particular names, Just, Beneficent, Brave, 



252 



Prudent, Temperate ; to each of which classes 
belongs its appropriate rule, that men should be 
just, that they should be beneficent, and so on. 

Had Sir James understood as much as this, 
about the doctrine of rules, he would not have 
blundered as he did about the obligation of excep- 
tions. I shall present for illustration some noto- 
rious instances. 

Sometimes a whole class of cases are excepted 
out of preference to another. Take for example 
the class of beneficent, generous acts ; those acts 
which, according to Sir James, have the delicious 
feelings to produce them, and which, if his 
standard of choice were adopted, would stand 
foremost in point of moral obligation. All those 
acts are made an exception of in the lump ; and 
whatever the motive to them, how delicious 
soever the benevolent feeling, not one of them is 
to be performed, if they are incompatible with the 
performance of another class, which are remark- 
able for what Sir James would call the coldness of 
the feelings which attend them. This case of 
exception has been erected into a great moral rule, 
which Sir James could not but have heard of ; 
that men ought to be just, before they are 
generous. 

Did Sir James ever ask himself the meaning of 
this ? ever inquire what was the reason of a pre- 
ference, which must have appeared to him, upon 
the delicious feeling principle, so extraordinary, 



25S 



and so objectionable ? It is not sure that Sir 
James, if he had sought for the reason, would 
have found it, but it is not far off. A far greater 
share of what is good for mankind depends upon 
the performance of just, than of generous actions. 
Had Sir James been capable of understanding 
this, he would have seen it to be decisive in 
favour of that appeal to utility which, there were 
people he knew of, to whom he would recommend 
himself, by speaking his nonsense against. 

There is another rule of exception, calculated 
not less to disturb the fine feelings of Sir James ; 
the rule, that charity begins at home. Here the 
generous acts, in spite of the delights, and feel- 
ings, are postponed even to prudent acts, which 
are not only cold, but another thing, of great 
disrepute with Sir James, interested, selfish. 

There are other things, if they had been shewn 
to him, which would have astonished Sir James. 
Some of the cases, the praise of which he 
resounds with the loudest of his notes, are 
" exceptions to the most important rules." Sup- 
pose an individual can perform a service of great 
importance to one of two men, but not to both. 
To which of the two shall he render it? The 
men are equal in all other respects ; but one of 
them is his father. Instantly the question is 
decided. There are cases in which men have 
agreed that the members of our own family should 
obtain the preference in our beneficent acts to the 



St54 

rest of our fellow-creatures. These are so many 
cases of exception to the general rule. The 
reason also why all men have concurred in the 
propriety of making those exceptions, is obvious. 
There is great utility in making them. The 
limited power of beneficence possessed by an indi- 
vidual is likely to produce the greatest effects 
when he exerts it within a sphere proportioned 
to itself, in favour of those individuals the wants 
of whom are best known to him, and with whom 
he has naturally the strongest sympathies. 

The rules of justice are a tissue, in which rules 
and exceptions are almost equally numerous ; a 
circumstance which Sir James, though a lawyer, 
and ex-judge, and professor of jurisprudence, 
appears never to have reflected on. 

If any one had told Sir James how much even 
of the morality of courage was composed of excep- 
tions, what a revelation it would have been to 
him ! Courage is understood to consist mainly in 
a readiness to meet danger without fear, and the 
greater the danger, the greater the courage. Yet 
it is not only allowed, but laudable, to avail your- 
self of every advantage against your enemy; 
that is, to lessen the danger of meeting him, by 
all the means in your power, even lying ; in other 
words, to gain your object with the minimum of 
courage. What are all arts and practices for 
acquiring skill in the use of weapons, but mean» 
to the same end ; lessening the danger of all 



255 



encounters with an enemy? — exceptions, assuredly, 
to the rule of courage ; yet laudable, because 
tending to general utility, the end for which the 
rule of courage exists. 

Sir James was not only so ill read in the rules 
of practical morality, as to be ignorant that a 
great part of them were rules of exception, but 
he has an argument to shew, that these excep- 
tions, besides being immoral, produce damage to 
what he calls the " machinery of the mind," and 
also the " health of the mind." 

" It is impossible," he says, " to combine the 
benefit of the general habit with the advantages of 
occasional deviation ; for any such deviation 
either produces remorse, or weakens the habit, 
and prepares the way for its gradual destruction." 

I promised above, that I would notice this 
observation here. And the importance of clearing 
the subject of morals from the confusion in which 
brains of the texture of Sir James are prone to 
involve it, makes me desirous of fulfilling my pro- 
mise, though, as far as regards Mr. Bentham, and 
Mr. Mill, it is wholly sujierfluous. They had no 
occasion to speak of exceptions, and do not. Their 
subject was not practical morality. 

The general habit, says Sir James, is impaired 
by every occasional deviation. Let us try his 
proposition by a case or two. The habit of 
walking is impaired by occasional sitting, or 
standing. The habit of talking is impaired by 



256 



occasional silence. The habit of speaking English 
is impaired by learning to speak French. Is he 
not a strange companion, who could make a 
general proposition, involving these particular 
ones ? Did Sir James really imagine that a man 
could not have in perfection the habit of perform- 
ing generous acts, and yet make all the exceptions 
which the superior calls of justice required ? Is 
it impossible to have the habit of performing just 
acts, and yet to remember the maxim, summum 
jus, summa injuria ? Such a course implies no 
enfeebling of the moral habits. Had Sir James 
understood the subject better, he would have seen 
that it is only completing the system of them. 
A habit of obeying the rules of exception is as 
necessary to moral acting, as that of obeying the 
other rules. 

Sir James, in labouring to introduce confusion 
of ideas into the doctrine of morals, talks such 
language about habits, and the necessity of that 
promptitude in action, which leaves no time for 
reflection (as if acting without reflection, in the 
greatest affairs, were a virtue), that I deem it 
necessary to make a reference to those mere 
elements of the science, which he is thus ignorant 
enough to contradict. 

In the performance of our duties two sets of 
cases may be distinguished. There is one set in 
which a direct estimate of the good of the par- 
ticular act is inevitable ; and the man acts immo- 




rally who acts without making it. There are 
other cases in which it is not necessary. 

The first are those, which have in them so 
much of singularity, as to prevent their coming 
within the limits of any established class. In 
such cases a man has but one guide ; he must 
consider the consequences, or act not as a moral, 
or rational agent at all. 

The second are cases of such ordinary and 
frequent occurrence as to be distinguished into 
classes. And every body knows, even Sir James 
knew, that when a class of acts are performed 
regularly and frequently, they are at last per- 
formed by habit ; in other words, the idea of the 
act and the performance of it follow so easily and 
speedily, that they seem to cohere, and to be but 
one operation. It is only necessary to recall some of 
the more familiar instances, to see the mode of 
this formation. In playing on a musical instru- 
ment, every note, at first, is found by an effort. 
Afterwards, the proper choice is made so rapidly 
as to appear as if made by a mechanical process 
in which the mind has no concern. The same is 
the case with moral acts. When they have been 
performed with frequency and uniformity, for a 
sufficient length of time, a habit is generated. 
The meaning of this, however, needs to be a little 
opened, since in heads like that of Sir James, 
strange work is apt to be made of it. 

When a man acts from habit, he does not act 

s 



258 



without reflection. He only acts with a very 
rapid reflection. In no class of acts does a man 
begin to act by habit. He begins without habit ; 
and acquires the habit by frequency of acting. 
The consideration, on which the act is founded, 
and the act itself, form a sequence. And it is 
obvious from the familiar cases of music and of 
speaking, that it is a sequence at first not very 
easily performed. By every repetition, however, 
it becomes easier. The consideration occurs with 
less effort ; the action follows with less effort ; 
they take place with greater and greater rapidity, 
till they seem blended. To say, that this is act- 
ing without reflection, is only ignorance ; for it 
is thus seen to be a case of acting by reflection so 
easily and rapidly, that the reflection and the act 
cannot be distinguished from one another. Habits 
of moral acting are habits of obedience to the 
principle of utility,, and are so far from being liable 
to be prevented or hurt, as poor Sir James would 
have it, by bringing utility, as he phrases it, 
" into contact with action," that they can be 
formed by no other means. 

On the formation of moral habits, reference 
being had to the confusion in the ideas of Sir 
James, another word may be necessary. 

Since moral acts are not performed at first by 
habit, but each upon the consideration which 
recommends it ; upon what considerations, we may 
be asked, do moral acts begin to be performed ? 



259 



The question has two meanings, and it is 
necessary to reply to both. It may be asked, upon 
what consideration the men of our own age and 
country, for example, at first, and before a habit 
is formed, perform moral acts ? Or. it may be 
asked, upon what consideration did men originally 
perform moral acts ? 

To the first of these questions every one can 
reply from his own memory and observation. 
We perform moral acts at first, from authority. 
Our parents tell us, that we ought to do this, 
ought not to do that. They are anxious that we 
should obey their precepts. They have two sets 
of influences, with which to work upon us ; praise 
and blame ; reward and punishment. All the 
acts which they say we ought to do, are praised 
in the highest degree, all those which they say we 
ought not to do, are blamed in the highest degree. 
In this manner, the ideas of praise and blame 
become associated with certain classes of acts, at 
a very early age, so closely, that they cannot 
easily be disjoined. No sooner does the idea of 
the act occur than the idea of praise springs up 
along with it, and clings to it. And generally 
these associations exert a predominant influence 
during the whole of life. 

Our parents not only praise certain kinds of 
acts, blame other kinds ; but they praise us when 
we perform those of the one sort, blame us when 
we perform those of the other. In this manner 

s 2 



260 



other associations are formed. Tlie idea of our- 
selves performing certain acts is associated with 
the idea of our being praised, performing certain 
other acts with the idea of our being blamed, so 
closely that the ideas become at last indissoluble. 
In this association consist the very important com- 
plex ideas of praise-worthiness, and blame-worthi- 
ness. An act which is praiseworthy, is an act 
with the idea of which the idea of praise is 
indissolubly joined ; an agent who is praise- 
worthy is an agent with the idea of whom the 
idea of praise is indissolubly joined. And in the 
converse case, that of blame-worthiness, the forma- 
tion of the idea is similar. 

Many powerful circumstances come in aid of 
these important associations, at an early age. We 
find, that not only our parents act in this manner, 
but all other parents. W e find that grown people 
act in this manner, not only towards children, but 
towards one another. The associations, therefore, 
are unbroken, general, and all-comprehending. 

Our parents administer not only praise and 
blame, to induce us to perform acts of one sort, 
abstain from acts of another sort, but also rewards 
and punishments. They do so directly ; and, 
further, they forward all our inclinations in the 
one case, baulk them in the other. So does every 
body else. We find our comforts excessively 
abridged by other people, when we act in one way, 
enlarged when we act in another way. Hence 



261 



another most important class of associations ; that 
of an increase of well-being from the good-will of 
our fellow-creatures, if we perform acts of one sort, 
of an increase of misery from their ill-will, if we 
perform those of another sort. 

In this manner it is that men, born in the 
social state, acquire the habits of moral acting, 
and certain affections connected with it, before 
they are capable of reflecting upon the grounds 
which recommend the acts either to praise or 
blame. Nearly at this point the greater part of 
them remain, continuing to perform moral acts 
and to abstain from the contrary, chiefly from the 
habits they have acquired, and the authority upon 
which they originally acted ; though it is not 
possible that any man should come to the years 
and blessing of reason, without perceiving, at 
least in an indistinct and general way, the advan- 
tage which mankind derive from their acting 
towards one another in one way, rather than 
another. 

We come now to the second question, viz. what 
are the considerations upon which men originally 
performed moral acts ? The answer to this ques- 
tion is substantially contained in the explanation 
already given of the classification of acts as moral 
and immoral. 

When men began to mark the distinction 
between acts, and were prompted to praise one 
class, blame another, they did so, either because 



262 



the one sort benefitted, the other hurt them ; or 
for some other reason. If for the first reason, the 
case is perfectly intelligible. The men had a 
motive, which they understood, and which was 
adequate to the end. If it was not on account of 
utility that men classed some acts as moral, others 
as immoral, on what other account was it ? 

To this question, an answer, consisting of 
any thing but words, has never been returned. 

It has been said, that there is a beauty, and a 
deformity, in moral and immoral acts, which 
recommended them to the distinctions they have 
met with. 

It is obvious to reply to this hypothesis, that 
the mind of a savage, that is, a mind in the state 
in which the minds of all men were, when they 
began to classify their acts, was not likely to be 
much affected by the ideal something called the 
beauty of acts. To receive pain or pleasure from 
an act, to obtain, or be deprived of, the means of 
enjoyment by an act ; to like the acts and the 
actors, whence the good proceeded, dislike those 
whence the evil proceeded ; all these were things 
which they understood. 

But we must endeavour to get a little nearer to 
the bottom of this affair. 

In truth, the term beauty, as applied to acts, is 
just as unintelligible to the philosopher, as to the 
savage. Is the beauty of an act one thing ; the 
morality of it another ? Or are they two names 



26s 



for the same thing ? If they are two things, 
what is the beauty, distinct from the morality ? 
If they are the same thing, what is the use of the 
name morality ? It only tends to confusion. 

But this is not all. The beautiful is that which 
excites in us the emotion of beauty, a state of 
mind with which we are acquainted by experience. 
This state of mind has been successfully analysed, 
and shewn to consist of a train of pleasurable 
ideas, awakened in us by the beautiful object. 

But is it in this way only that we are concerned 
in moral acts ? Do we value them for nothing, 
but as we value a picture, or a piece of music, 
for the pleasure of looking at them, or hearing 
them ? Every body knows the contrary. Acts 
are objects of importance to us, on account of 
their consequences, and nothing else. This con- 
stitutes a radical distinction between them and 
the things called beautiful. Acts are hurtful or 
beneficial, moral or immoral, virtuous or vicious. 
But it is only an abuse of language to call them 
beautiful or ugly. 

That it is jargon, the slightest reflection is 
sufficient to evince ; for what is the beauty of an 
act, detached from its consequences ? We shall be 
told, perhaps, that the beauty of an act was never 
supposed to be detached from its consequences. 
The beauty consists in the consequences. I am 
contented with the answer. But observe to 
what it binds you. The consequences of ads 



£64 



are the good or evil they do. According to you, 
therefore, the beauty of acts is either the utility 
of them, or it is nothing at all ; — a beautiful 
ground on which to dispute with us, that acts 
are classed as moral, not on account of their 
utility, but on account of their beauty. 

It will be easily seen, from what has been said, 
that they who ascribe the classification of acts, as 
moral, and immoral, to a certain taste, an agree- 
able or disagreeable sentiment which they excite 
(among whom are included the Scottish profes- 
sors Hutcheson, and Brown, and David Hume 
himself, though on his part with wonderful incon- 
sistency) — hold the same theory with those who 
say, that beauty is the source of the classification 
of moral acts. Things are classed as beautiful, 
or deformed, on account of a certain taste, or 
inward sentiment. If acts are classed in the 
same way, on account of a certain taste or inward 
sentiment, they deserve to be classed under the 
names beautiful, and deformed ; otherwise not. 

I hope it is not necessary for me to go minutely 
into the exposure of the other varieties of jargon, 
by which it has been endeavoured to account for 
the classification of acts, as moral, and immoral. 
" Fitness " is one of them. Acts are approved on 
account of their fitness. When fitness is hunted 
down, it is brought to bay exactly at the place 
where beauty was. Fitness is either the goodness 
of the consequences, or it is nothing at all. 



265 



The same is the case with " Right Reason," or 
" Moral Reason." An act according to moral 
reason, is an act, the consequences of which are 
good. Moral reason, therefore, is another name, 
and not a bad name, for the principle of utility. 

Having thus guarded the reader, though at the 
expense of rather a long dissertation, against the 
confusion of ideas in which Sir James laboured to 
involve the doctrine of moral rules, I now proceed 
to the remaining parts, or aspects (it is difficult to 
know which of the two he thinks he is giving us), 
of " the sin which must most easily beset " those 
who class human actions as moral or immoral on 
the principle of utility. 

After the sin of making exceptions to impor- 
tant rules, he charges " the sin of too lenient a 
censure of the use of doubtful means, when the 
end seems to them to be good." 

The morality of this accusation is that which 
first challenges attention. The ordinary character 
of bad men is, that they are little scrupulous about 
means for the attainment of their ends. This, 
therefore, is a form of words calculated to class 
the assertors of utility with bad men in general. 

When we examine the charge, we see that it is 
either the same with the foregoing, a poor repe- 
tition of the complaint about exceptions to impor- 
tant rules ; which we have seen is only a com- 
plaint against acting morally, that is, preferring 
the higher obligation to the lower ; or it is the 



266 



charge of disregarding, in the choice of means, 
moral obligations altogether. In that sense, it 
would be a direct and impudent violation of the 
truth. If asserted of the doctrine, it is a contra- 
diction in terms ; an assertion, that the successful 
pursuit of the greatest good is the pursuit of evil. 
If asserted of the individuals, it has all the turpi- 
tude of an intention to do injury by an imputation 
which is false. 

Follows " the sin of believing unphilosophically 
as well as dangerously, that there can be any 
measure or scheme so useful to the world as the 
existence of men who would not do a base thing 
for any public advantage.'* 

This is a charge against the assertors of utility 
of mistaking the less for the greater good. If this 
mistake is shewn to them, they will be the most in- 
consistent of men, if they do not correct it ; for the 
pursuit of the greatest good is but another name 
for their principle. What has Sir James done to 
shew it ? Nothing, as you may suppose. 

The two things which the wisdom of Sir James 
here puts at the two ends of his balance are, mea- 
sures or schemes of public advantage, and men 
who will not do a base thing. The former kicks 
the beam. Yet in the former are included such 
things as the best form of government, successful 
combination to save a country from foreign sub- 
jugation, or to deliver it from a body of internal 
and misruling enemies. One would like to know, 



267 



how many of Sir James's worthies we ought to 
have, to overbalance things of so much value. 

Next we have need to know, what we get by 
these wonderful persons ; what they do for us. 
By those other things, which Sir James treats as 
inferior, we know that we get advantages of 
unspeakable importance. 

All the information we obtain from Sir James 
is, that his worthies will not do a base thing. 
But this is only negative. It does not follow that 
they will do any good at all. If so, we should 
have a poor bargain in exchanging for them all 
schemes and measures calculated to benefit the 
community. Was there ever a philosopher like 
Sir James ? 

Again What are we to understand by Sir 
James's "base thing?" What does he mean by 
"base?" Is it immoral? If so, it will not 
answer his purpose. In that case, he does not 
prove any thing against the assertors of utility ; 
he agrees with them. A man who will not do 
an immoral act, is a man who will not prefer the 
less to the greater good. Now this, according to 
the principle of utility, is just what ought to be 
done. If Sir James means by " base," something 
different from immoral, he has found out a prin- 
ciple, which is superior to morality, and which is 
entitled to supersede it. 

Sir James gives us an example. 

" It was said of Andrew Fletcher, he would 



268 



lose^ his life to serve his country ; hut would not 
do a base thing to save it." This is the flourish 
of a panegyrist ; and of one of the same class or 
clan with Sir James. 

To an ordinary mind, it would appear, that 
when a man had it in his power to save his 
country, and did not, he acted as one of the basest, 
not one of the best of men. 

To save a country, the loss of millions of lives, 
the destruction of half the population, and reduc- 
tion of the other half to the extremity of want 
and misery, have sometimes not been thought too 
great a sacrifice. To rescue from all this evil, 
there is an act, which Andrew Fletcher, or Sir 
James Mackintosh, no matter which, would not 
do. If weighed in the moral balance, it would 
not be easy to find an act, within the competence 
of Andrew, upon which so much would depend ; 
and if, to avoid some smaller evil, consequent 
upon an act of his, he coolly preferred this over- 
balance of evil, he might be a visionary, or a 
mountebank, but certainly not a virtuous man. 

Let us try the case by an instance or two : 
and we shall begin by an act, which we shall 
express by its most offensive name. Would 
Andrew not have lied, to save all this evil? 
That he would ; and for a much smaller matter. 
Suppose him leading a party of his countrymen, 
engaged in deadly struggle for the salvation of 
their country ; and that he sees a prospect of 



269 



surprising the enemy. Would he hesitate to give 
out, to declare, ay, and to swear, if need were, 
that he was to march in one direction, when he 
intended to march in another ? 

Would Andrew scruple to take away, and with 
his own hand, the life of an innocent man, on a 
much more insignificant occasion than that of 
saving his country? Suppose him defending a 
fortress of some importance, and that from the 
top of the wall, he sees taken by the enemy in a 
sally, a man in possession of a secret essential to 
the defence of the place, upon whose constancy he 
cannot depend ; instantly he levels his rifle and 
shoots him through the heart. Sir James, with 
whatever inclination to chicane, would not have 
ventured to condemn this act, because he knew 
that Andrew would have ordered a sentinel, 
whom he had found asleep at his post, to be shot 
before his eyes. That Andrew would have made 
very free with other men's property in such a 
situation, Sir James could not have called in 
doubt. He would not have alleged that as soon 
as the necessity was pressing, Andrew would not 
have turned the inhabitants, men, women, and 
children, not allowing them to carry with them 
an article belonging to them which could be 
useful to himself, out of their houses, and out of 
the place, to starve, or survive, in the most 
dreadful of all circumstances, as accident might 
determine. 



270 



What then is the base act which Andrew 
would not have done to save his country? 

It would be curious to mark the pains taken 
by Sir James, in his controversy with the assertors 
of utility, to place public spirit, patriotism, low in 
the scale of duties ; were it not a characteristic 
of those who write for an aristocracy. Examine 
carefully the writings which have issued from such 
sources : you will find a straining, so general as 
to be almost constant, to make the duty a man 
owes to his country be regarded as a mean duty. 
For that purpose, the narrow affections are 
exalted above the enlarged, and the great morali- 
ties are lost sight of, in a blaze of panegyric on 
the small. 

It is sufficiently obvious, what ends are served 
by this ; and what motives are thence supplied for 
decrying the principle of utility; which marshals 
the duties in their proper order, and will not 
permit mankind to be deluded, as so long they 
have been, sottishly to prefer the lower to the 
higher good, and to hug the greater evil, from 
fear of the less. 

There is more of Sir James, about the de- 
light of the feelings, and about the heart as the 
seat of virtue ; but I am tired of this work, and 
so must be the reader. I shall, therefore,'proceed 
to a new charge of Sir James against those whom 
he calls the Bentham school. They are totally 
without taste. He might just as well have talked 



271 



of their stature, or of the colour of their hair, as 
helping us to an estimate of the truth and value of 
their doctrines. This charge could serve only one 
purpose, a purpose evidently dear to Sir James, 
that of giving unfavourable impressions of those 
men. The want of taste, he knew, was a very 
discrediting circumstance, in the minds of those 
whose admiration he wanted for himself. 

These are the words of the charge : " The 
coincidence of Mr. Bentham's school with the 
ancient Epicurean, in the disregard of the pleasures 
of taste and of the arts dependent on imagination, 
is a proof, both of the inevitable adherence of 
much of the popular sense of the words interest 
and pleasure, to the same words in their philoso- 
phical acceptation, and of the pernicious influence 
of narrowing utility to mere visible and tangible 
objects, to the exclusion of those which form the 
larger part of human enjoyment." 

Here are a parcel of words, strung together in 
a manner, the wonderfulness of which we shall 
presently see ; but of which the main object 
evidently is, to fix upon those whom he calls the 
school of Bentham the charge of confining their 
principle of morality to sensible objects ; placing 
" the larger part of human enjoyment," that is, 
of human happiness, out of its sphere. 

No man could have written this sentence, who 
was not habitually regardless of the truth or 
falsehood of what he uttei'ed ; trusting for im- 



punity to the cloudiness of his phrase, and the 
carelessness of those whom he addressed. That 
the principle of utility takes in every ingredient 
wherein human happiness consists, is the very 
definition of the term. Mr. Bentham and 
Mr. Mill are the only writers belonging to the 
imaginary " school," who have touched on 
more than detached portions of the doctrine. 
But no other writers, who can be named, have so 
carefully traced every modification of human en- 
joyment, and suffering, and so minutely explained 
whence they are derived, how, if complex, they 
are formed, and what their value as so many 
items in the sum of human happiness or misery. 
To say, that these men have paid attention to no 
sources of enjoyment, but those which are visible 
and tangible, is one of the most barefaced pieces 
of misrepresentation ever ventured upon by any 
man who had any character to lose. 

Sir James charges the ancient Epicureans 
with a " disregard of the pleasures of taste, and 
of the arts dependent on imagination." This is 
notoriously untrue. Were Lucretius, and Horace, 
and Virgil, and Julius Caesar, to name no more, 
regardless of the pleasures of taste, and of the arts 
dependent on imagination ? 

And whence did Sir James derive the ground 
of his assertion with respect to those among the 
moderns whom he attacks? I answer, he had 
no grounds. The assertion is utterly without 
foundation. 



273 



And now let us see, in what manner Sir James 
puts his ideas together. The coincidence of certain 
ancients and certain moderns in certain particulars, 
which Sir James imputes to them falsely; that is, a 
coincidence which has no existence ; proves, he 
says, two things ; first, that much of the meaning 
of the words " interest " and " pleasure," in the 
popular use of them, sticks to them in the philo- 
sophical. Why, the whole of it sticks. Interest 
and pleasure have the same meaning in all cases ; 
though all men are not acquainted with all plea- 
sures, and some would make out one list, some 
another, both of pleasures, and the causes of them. 

The next thing which this coincidence, this 
non-existent something, proves, is, that " narrow- 
ing utility to mere visible and tangible objects is 
pernicious." It is fortunate for this proposition 
that it needs no such proving. Nobody ever did, 
or will dispute it. What needs proof is, that 
which Sir James affirms, in opposition to proof, 
that the assertors of utility do so narrow it. 

Sir James having made a school for Mr. Ben- 
tham, by force of his imagination, resolved to 
leave nothing undone, to disparage those whom he 
thought proper to include in it. 

After having finished with them, in the 
" Ethical Theory" department, the only one he 
told us which came within his province, we find 
him stepping out of his province, in order to im- 
pute to them sins in the Logical department. 

T 



They are ignorant, he says, of the true method of 
philosophizing. This he proves, by asserting 
that they, like the Cartesians, endeavour to 
account for too much by a single principle; vi^here- 
upon he gives us to know his depth, in physical 
science, as well as moral, by a discourse on the 
laws of nature ; the complication which Newton 
introduced into the account of those laws; and the 
exploits of Laplace to reconcile the phenomena to 
Newton's complexity, " by introducing inter- 
mediate laws, and calculating disturbing powers ; " 
— a specimen of Sir James which I recommend to 
the reader's curiosity. 

Sir James was probably not aware, that this 
charge against Mr. Bentham and the school he 
gives him, is the old and stale objection to philo- 
sophy itself ; the same in substance as the vulgar 
cry of. No theory ! No speculation ! 

I wonder what Sir James imagined it is, which 
a man does, when he philosophizes. Those who 
speak of philosophy, like men who know any thing 
about it, say, that its business consists in tracing 
up particular phenomena to a general principle, 
and always from the less general to the more 
general ; and that the most successful philosopher 
is he who comprehends under one principle the 
greatest number. 

It is a novelty in impertinence to tell us that a 
philosopher is in the wrong, because he goes to 
the bottom of his subject. The Cartesians did 



275 



not err, by tracing phenomena to a very general 
principle, but by assuming gratuitously a prin- 
ciple, and one which did not account for the 
phenomena. Had they traced them up to a real 
principle, which did account for them, the more 
general the principle, that is, the more numerous 
the phenomena which it embraced, the more 
splendid would have been their success ; and 
their philosophy the more signally beneficial. 

Sir James appears to include, under his pre- 
sent accusation, the opinion that the principle of 
utility accounts for the moral phenomena. But 
if this be accounting for too much by a single 
principle, he should have told us what other 
principle or principles are to be used in aid of the 
principle of utility, and how much remains to be 
accounted for, when all that it can dispose of is 
taken away. 

Instead of this, Sir James here quits Mr. Ben- 
tham, and the principle of utility, to fasten on 
Mr. Mill ; and two articles written by him for 
the Supplement to the Encyclopaedia Britannica, 
one on Government, another on Education, are 
the subjects of attack. 

On the treatise on government. Sir James 
delivers his wisdom thus : " Mr. Mill, for ex- 
ample, derives the whole theory of government 
from the single fact, that every man pursues his 
interest, when he knows it ; which he assumes to 
be a sort of self evident practical principle, if 

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276 



such a phrase he not contradictory. That a 
man's pursuing the interest of another, or indeed 
any other object in nature, is just as conceivable 
as that he should pursue his own interest, is a 
proposition which seems never to have occurred 
to this acute and ingenious writer. Nothing, 
however, can be more certain than its truth, if 
the term interest be employed in its proper sense 
of general well-being, which is the only accepta- 
tion in which it can serve the purpose of his 
arguments. If indeed the term be employed to 
denote the gratification of a predominant desire, 
his proposition is self-evident, but wholly un- 
serviceable in his argument ; for it is clear that 
individuals and multitudes often desire what they 
know to be most inconsistent with their general 
welfare. A nation, as much as an individual, 
and sometimes more, may not only mistake its 
interest, but, perceiving if clearly, may prefer the 
gratification of a strong passion to it. The whole 
fabric of his political reasoning seems to be over- 
thrown by this single observation ; and instead of 
attempting to explain the immense variety of 
political facts, by the simple principle of a contest 
of interests, we are reduced to the necessity of 
once more referring them to that variety of 
passions, habits, opinions, and prejudices, which 
we discover only by experience." And in a note 
Sir James says, " The same mode of reasoning 
has been adopted by the writer of a late criticism 



277 



on Mr. Mill's Essay. — See Edinburgh Review, 
No. 97, March 1829."— This is convenient ; 
because the answer, which does for Sir James, 
will answer the same purpose with the Edinburgh 
Review. 

All that is here alledged against Mr. Mill, in 
the way of matter, is — that men do not always 
act in conformity with their true interest, some- 
times mistaking it, and sometimes impelled by 
passion to disregard it. Sir James says, and 
according to him, " the writer of a late criticism 
in the Edinburgh Review " says, that this " over- 
throws the whole fabric of Mr. Mill's political 
reasoning." So far is this from being true, that 
Mr. Mill's " political reasoning " is in perfect 
conformity with it. We have had experience 
enough of Sir James, not to be surprised that he 
should commit this trifling mistake. But with 
respect to Mr. Mill, his vindication is complete ; 
unless the assertion I have now made be success- 
fully contradicted. 

Sir J ames's wording, however, is here a matter 
of curiosity. He says, that the fact of men's 
acting sometimes without an immediate view to 
their own interest, never occurred to Mr. Mill, as 
a thing conceivable. Did Sir James expect any 
body to believe him, when he made this asser^^ 
tion ? 

To come a little nearer to the point ; is there a 
single proposition of Mr. Mill's which implies an 



278 



ignorance of this fact ? Or is there one of his 
conclusions which is vitiated by inattention to it ? 

To Mr. Mill, considering as he did that the 
principles of government mean the principles by 
which men are governed, and the principles by 
which men are governed mean the principles by 
which their acts are determined, it was not only 
necessary, it was indispensable, that he should ask 
himself, what is that within a man which has the 
principal influence in determining his actions.— 
The answer of Mr. Mill was, — the man's view 
of his own interest." Would Sir James have 
had him return any other answer ? Sir James 
abstains from saying this. But he loudly con- 
demns Mr. Mill for what he did answer. 

I am not at all disposed to quibble with Sir 
James, about the meaning of the word " interest." 
It is very obvious, to any one who has read 
Mr. Mill's Treatise, in what sense he uses it. 
He uses it, neither in the refined sense of a man's 
best interest, or what is most conducive to his 
happiness upon the whole ; nor to signify every 
object which he desires, though that is a very in- 
telligible meaning too. Mr. Mill uses it, in its 
rough and common acceptation, to denote the 
leading objects of human desire ; Wealth, Power, 
Dignity, Ease; including escape from the contrary. 
Poverty, Impotence, Degradation, Toil. 

I suppose nobody, at least nobody now alive, 
will dispute, that, taking men generally, the bulk 



279 



of their actions is determined by consideration of 
these objects. As little, I suppose, will it be dis- 
puted, that in deliberating on the best means for 
the government of men in society, it is the 
business of philosophers and legislators (what 
title had Sir James to meddle with the business 
of either ?) — to look to the more general laws of 
their nature, rather than the exceptions. The 
bearing of Sir James's talk (you can seldom 
gather more from it than its bearing) is to re- 
commend attention principally to the exceptions. 
At least, his whole complaint of Mr. Mill is that 
he did not confine his attention to the exceptions. 

Sir James, though he had no ideas of his own 
to set him right, might have derived from his 
memory, which was reported as good (?. e. for 
words and dates — possibly enough it did not 
extend to ideas), that Mr. Mill, if in error, in this 
matter, is in good company. 

Bishop Berkeley says, " Self-love being a prin- 
ciple of all others the most universal, and the 
most deeply engraven on our hearts, it is natural 
for us to regard things as they are fitted to 
augment or impair our own happiness ; and ac- 
cordingly we denominate them good or evil'' * 
This is a very comprehensive decision ; the very 
terms good and evil derive their meaning from 
self-interest. 

The following quotation from David Hume is 

* Berkeley's Works^ ii. p. 7. Ed. J;to. 



280 



of the more importance ; because it teaches the 
very same application of the same general law, 
for which, carried out into detail, Mr. Mill is 
accused, as shewing his ignorance, at once, of the 
most notorious facts in human nature, and of the 
proper mode of philosophizing. 

" Political writers have established it as a 
maxim, that, in contriving any system of govern- 
ment, and fixing the several checks and controls 
of the constitution, every man ought to be sup- 
posed a knave, and to have no other end, in all 
his actions, than private interest. By this in- 
terest we must govern him, and by means of it 
make him, notwithstanding his insatiable avarice 
and ambition, co-operate to public good. With- 
out this, say they, we shall in vain boast of the 
advantages of any constitution, and shall find in 
the end, that we have no security for our liberties 
and possessions, except the good will of our 
rulers ; that is, we shall have no security at all." 

" It is, therefore, a just political maxim, that 
every man must be supposed a knave ; though at 
the same time, it appears somewhat strange, that 
a maxim should be true in politics which is false 
in fact. But to satisfy us on this head, we may 
consider, that men are generally more honest in 
their private than in their public capacity, and 
will go greater lengths to serve a party, than 
when their own private interest is alone con- 
cerned. Honour is a great check upon mankind ; 



£81 

but when a considerable body of men act together, 
this check is in a great measure removed ; since a 
man is sure to be approved of by his own party 
for what promotes the common interest ; and he 
soon learns to despise the clamours of adversaries. 
To which we may add, that every court or senate 
is determined by the greater number of voices ; 
so that, if self-interest influences only the majority 
(as it will always do), the w^hole senate follows 
the allurements of this separate interest, and acts 
as if it contained not one member who had any 
regard to public interest and liberty." 

" ^T^hen there offers, therefore, to om* censure 
and examination, any plan of government, real or 
imaginary, where the power is distributed among 
several courts and several orders of men, we 
should always consider the separate interest of 
each court and each order ; and if we find that, 
by the skilful division of power, this interest 
must necessarily, in its operation, concur with the 
public, we may pronounce that government to be 
wise and happy. If, on the contrary, separate 
interests be not checked, and be not directed to 
the public, we ought to look for nothing but 
faction, disorder, and tyranny, from such a go- 
vernment. In this opinion I am justified by ex- 
perience, as well as by the authority of all philo- 
sophers and politicians, both ancient and mo- 
dern."* 

* Essay on the Independency of Parliament. 



2S2 



Did Sk James consider this an example of the 
error of the Cartesians? Did he condemn 
Mr. Hume, because he " derived the whole 
theory of government from the single fact, that 
every man pursues his own interest when he 
knows it ; which he assumes to be a sort of self- 
evident practical principle, if such a phrase be not 
contradictory." 

The common experience of mankind is well 
expressed by the old dramatic writer : — 

Verum illud verBum est, vulgo quod dici solet, 
Omnes sibi malle melius esse, quam alteri. 

Teren. Andr. Act ii. Sc. 5. 

The next quotation I deem of importance ; both 
on account of the reputation the author enjoys, as 
being what they call a practical man ; and from 
the striking manner in which he puts and applies 
the very fact, which we have to guard against 
Sir James's perversion. 

As the Creator is a being, not only of 
infinite power and wisdom, but also of infinite 
goodness, he has been pleased so to contrive 
the constitution and frame of humanity, that 
we should want no other prompter to inquire 
after and pursue the rule of right, but only our 
own self-love, that universal principle of action. 
For he has so intimately connected, so insepa- 
rably interwoven, the laws of eternal justice 
with the happiness of each individual, that the 
latter cannot be obtained but by observing the 



2SS 



former ; and, if tlie former be punctually obeyed, 
it cannot but induce the latter. In consequence 
of which mutual connexion of justice and human 
felicity, he has not perplexed the law of nature 
with a multitude of abstracted rules and precepts, 
referring merely to the fitness or unfitness of 
things, as some have gravely surmised ; but has 
graciously reduced the rule of obedience to this 
one paternal precept, ' that man should pzirsue 
his oivn happiness.' This is the foundation of 
what we call ethics, or natural law. For the 
several articles into which it is branched in our 
system, amount to no more than demonstrating, 
that this or that action tends to man's real hap- 
piness, and therefore, very justly concluding that 
the performance of it is a part of the law of 
nature ; or, on the other hand, that this or that 
action is destructive of man's real happiness, and 
therefore, that the law of nature forbids it. This 
law of nature, being coeval with mankind, and 
dictated by God himself, is of course superior in 
obligation to any other. It is binding over all 
the globe, in all countries, and at all times. No 
human laws are of any validity, if contrary to 
this : and such of them as are valid derive all 
their force, and all their authority, mediately or 
immediately from this original." * 

In the opinion of Blackstone, self-love is not 

* Blackstone's Commentaries on the Laws of England, 
Introd. § 2. 



only the universal principle of action^ but, what 
is necessarily consequent upon this, the sole prin- 
ciple of moral ohligation. If the theory of go- 
vernment is not built upon the universal principle 
of action, I should like to know on what foun- 
dation Sir James would place it. 

Sir James would have done well to observe 
what is said by Blacks tone about the law of na- 
ture, and the authority of human laws : that the 
law of nature commands what is favourable, 
forbids what is unfavourable to man's happiness : 
and that no human law, which is contrary to this 
law of nature, is of any validity. Did Sir James 
not think that this is giving a pretty extensive 
operation to the principle of utility ? 

Mr. Mill, going upon what thus appears, not- 
withstanding the contradiction of Sir James, to 
be pretty sure ground, inferred, that if the in- 
terest of those who rule could, by any contrivance, 
be made to coincide with the interest of those 
who obey, we should have the best security, which 
the nature of man affords, that the interest of the 
community would be steadily pursued by rulers ; 
because we should have the security of their own 
interest. And though it may perhaps be true of 
certain individuals out of a multitude, that they 
are not habitually governed by their own in- 
terest ; yet, as is truly remarked by Mr. Hume, 
it may be. affirmed of all bodies of men, that they 
are guided by the principle of interest invariably. 



285 



The necessity, which those who examine what 
is the best form of government are under, of 
building on this foundation, is the leading position 
in Mr. Mill's discourse. The truth of it is self- 
evident. But, for the due exposure of the ig- 
norance and presumption of Sir James, who 
derides it, a reference may be useful to some of 
those who have had occasion expressly to teach it. 

The whole of Plato's Republic may be regarded 
as a development, and, in many of its parts, a 
masterly development, of the principle applied by 
Mr. Mill ; that identity of interests between the 
governors and the governed affords the only 
security for good government. In the third 
book, after a long and beautiful deduction of the 
qualities required in the rulers (guardians, he 
calls them) of the state, the result is exhibited in 
the following striking expressions. 

£Ti yiYihy.ov(xg TYig TToXioog ; '^EcTT* rOCVTOC, Y^..V\^QirQ Si 
yav Tig y.ccXiG'TOc tbth o ruyp^avot (piXoov I Avocyycy]. Kal 

rovvocvTiov ^ UvToog, £(pri,' 

The meaning is, that those chosen guardians 
should have three grand qualities ; wisdom 
adapted to their trust ; power adapted to their 



* Platon. Respub. 1. iii. § 19- 



286 



trust ; and above all, care for the interests of the 
community: That a man's care, however, of 
other interests than his own, is then best secured, 
when both are promoted by the same events ; 
because when any one expects that every addition 
to the happiness of others will be attended with 
a similar addition to his own, he pursues their 
happiness with the same constancy as his own. 

Such is " the fabric of political reasoning, " 
which Sir James tells us, for our edification, is over- 
thrown by his sapient remark, that " a nation, as 
much as an individual, and sometimes more, may 
not only mistake its interest, but, perceiving it 
clearly, may prefer the gratification of a strong 
passion to it." 

Does it, according to his logical head, follow, 
that because a nation may sometimes mistake its 
true interest, therefore its best security for good 
government is not to be found in effecting an 
identity of interests between those who govern, 
and itself? 

" Nothing," says Mr. Burke, " is security to 
any individual, but the common interest of all."* 

Without identity of interest with those they 
rule, the rulers, Plato says, instead of being the 
guardians of the flock, become wolves and its 
devourers. 

^ Letter to the Sheriffs of Bristol. Burke's Works. Ed. in 
4to. vol. ii. p. 112. 



287 



W(7T£ VTTO oi}ioXoc(riocg 71 Xi[^ii ri rivog uXXs xana 'i^ng xvr^g 
r^g K\)v<xg ETrip^st^yicrat roig Tr^o^ccjoig KOixs^yli:/} xai 
ccvr) Kuvwi/ Xvitoig o^oiw9iji/c«t.* 

There is another passage in the Fifth Book of 
the same remarkable production, in which the 
necessity of this identification, which he calls 
?! /w,£v ri^ov'^g re yiocl Xhirng koivooi/kx,, is still farther ex- 
pounded, and set in a striking point of view. 

TOU GOV ^VV^YI T£ KOcl TTOiVj fXl(XV OuX £p^OjW<£l/. OuXOUV ?1 

fAn -^icvYig re xa) Xv7ry\g koivoouioc ^vv§i7, orav or* jwaAtcTTa 
TravTEj oi TToXiVai twi/ auTcoj* yiyvo^ivodv ts xat octtoXXv- 
jusvwv TTocooiTrXTiG-ioog '^at^oocri xal AuTrwvrai ; IlavTaTrao"* 
|W,£v oui/, *H (J'a ye tcov roiovroov IJ*/wcrt? J'iaAuft, orai; ot 

jw,£i/ TTE^iaXyB^g ol Trs^i^a^sTg ylyvoo]/TCin Itt) 7o7g oovroTg 
TTOc^Yifji.oca-i TTig TToXsoog T£ xai roov Iv ry] ttoXbi. T/ ; 
'Ap oui/ £x rov^s TO Toto;/(5'£ "y/yvsTai, orai/ y.-^ oI[j.(x. 
(p^iyyodVTOci Iv rvi ttoXbi ra, roi(X,h prijotara, to rs If/^ov 
xal TO oux £/Aov ; xal Tre^i tou (xXXor^iov xocroi rocvroc ; 
Ko^i^;? jU,£V oui/. 'Ej/ 17 Ttt/t ^ri ttoXbi TrXsTgroi Itt) to 
auTo xocroi roivra. rovro Xiyovcn to e/aoi/ xa) to oux lyoVf 
uvTYi a^KTrcK, J'lotxfnrat ; IToAu ys, Kat ^' Ti? lyyv" 
rocroc Ivog ccv^^oottov £^£*, oTov, oVai/ ttou ?ijw,wv ^dyirvXog 
TOU TrXnyi^y 7ro(,(r<x> n xotvooi/KX, aocroi to (TCas^oc tt^o? tyiu 
T£Ta|U£i/y) fiV jW't'av (rvvroo^iv rrii/ tou oc^^o]/rog 
Iv auTi|5 w9,£To T£ xal 7ra,(Toc ^iKO(. ^vvYiXyY\(r£ (Ji^i^ovg Tvovi' 



* Platon. Respub. 1. iii. § 22. 



288 



ioiKTvXov oiXytk* y^ixi irt^i aAAou otououi/ toou tou ai/O^coTrou 
c^uToc Xoyoq, ttb^I t£ AuTrn? ttovoui/to? {xi^ovg nou ttb^) 
r§o\iY\q poci'l^oi/Tog* O oivtog ya^, 'itpn' ytoci touto o E^WTas-, 
TOU TOJouTou iyyvTocra, n cc^Krra 7roXirtvo[AiV7i TroXig oixn, 
*Evo? J*?!, Oi^o(,i^ Trda-y^ovrog tcoi/ TroAiTWi/, oTtoui/ >i ayaGov 
^ xaxov j5 TotauTtj iroXig y.cx,Xi(noc> rs (pncrsi lauT?!? £i'i/ai to 
7r«(rp^ov, >tat S ^uv»jor9>!<rfTai cL%%<tcu S PvXXvTrriO-sron, 
^AvocyycYi, £<pv\, rriu yi bvvoia.ov. 

Not daring to attempt a translation of this pas- 
sage, I shall endeavour shortly to express its 
meaning. " There is no evil in a community so 
great, as that which disunites, and makes it seve- 
ral, instead of one ; nor any good so great, as that 
which makes it one, instead of several. The 
means of effecting this unity, is so to regulate the 
component parts, that what is a cause of pleasure 
or pain to one or a few, shall be so to all, or as 
many as possible. On the contrary, when inter- 
ests are disunited, so that from the same political 
events, one portion of the community derives 
pleasure, another pain, this state of things, by 
inevitable consequence, leads to the dissolution of 
states." 

It is mortifying to find one's self under the 
necessity of vindicating the wisdom of ages, from 
the pitiful objections of a man who, finding it 
stated in some quarter which he disliked, that 
identity of interests with the community is the 
best security the community can have for the 



289 



good conduct of its rulers ; gives out a propo- 
sition which has no bearing on the matter, and 
cries out, " There ! I have demolished your best 
security : men sometimes mistake their true in- 
terest : therefore, the identity of the interests of 
the rulers with the interests of the community is 
not the best security for care of the interests of 
the community." 

W ell reasoned ! Would it not be a still better 
connected conclusion to say, that individuals 
sometimes mistake their true interest ; therefore, 
no individual should manage his own affairs, but 
every man those of some other ? 

Plato, seeing thus clearly the necessity of iden- 
tifying the interests ot the guardians, ^uAaxs^, with 
the interests of the guarded, bent the whole force 
of his penetrating mind, to discover the means of 
effecting such identification ; but being ignorant, 
as all the ancients were, of the divine principle of 
representation, found himself obliged to have 
recourse to extraordinary methods. He first of all 
prescribes a very artificial system of education for 
the class of guardians, (puXaxf? : a system of such 
vigilance, begun so early, and continued so long, 
as to make of them a very different sort of beings 
from the ordinary race of mortals, to make of 
them, in short, philosophers, Plato laying it down 
as a universal truth, that there can be no happi- 
ness for states, until either philosophers are the 
rulers, or the rulers philosophers. In the next 

u 



290 



place, in order to prevent the existence of any 
private interest militating against that of the 
community, in the breasts of the guardians, he 
thought it necessary that they (he did not say the 
rest of the people, that is a vulgar error), should 
have nothing belonging to them individually, not 
even wives and children. This system of means, 
for the attainment of that identity of interests 
between the guardians and the guarded, on which 
good guardianship depends, has been the subject 
of much ignorant ridicule ; but if the principle of 
representation, unknown to Plato, be excluded, it 
will not be easy to find another combination of 
means better adapted to the end ; and surely that 
end is of sufficient importance to render it expe- 
dient to employ the most extraordinary means for 
its attainment, if other and simpler means are not 
to be found. Besides, Plato had an example of 
something nearly as extraordinary as the means 
he proposed, actually before his eyes, at Sparta. 
And the inhabitants of modern Europe have had 
examples of something still more extraordinary in 
the whole set of monastic institutions ; above all 
that of the Jesuits. 

Aristotle lays down the same doctrine ; but, as 
his manner is, in a more abstract way ; where he 
treats of ends, nM, in the most comprehensive 
sense. 

It is illustrated also, at great length, and with 
great beauty, in many parts of the writings of 



291 



Xenophon. It is the great theme of two of his 
most exquisite and instructive productions, his 
Institution of Cyrus, and his Economics ; and is 
touched upon with great effect in some of the 
dialogues in the Memoirs of Socrates. 

Mr. Mill, it is necessary to observe, confines 
his inquiry to one department of government. 
The only thing he takes in hand, is, to shew, by 
what means good legislation can be effected. 
He certainly took it for granted, not having duly 
fathomed the intellects of such men as Sir James, 
that it was necessary for this end to establish an 
identity of interests between the community and 
those to whom they intrust the power of legis- 
lating for them. 

And next he found, that the same means 
precisely which produce a true representation ; 
that is, a body of representatives, the real, 
and not the pretended, choice of the people ; 
produce most happily, indeed wonderfully, the 
identity of interest, on which good legislation 
depends; and that exactly in proportion as the 
system of representation falls short of this per- 
fection, it fails in producing that effect. No 
wonder, that the class who were permitted to rule, 
without that identity of interests, in other words, 
to misrule, were very angry at hearing this doc- 
trine ; and that they who sought their favour 
were eager to signalize themselves by reviling 
both the doctrine and its author. 

u 2 



Let the vehicles of aristocratical opinions, and 
of the advocation of aristocratical interests in 
England, for the last fifty years, be consulted ; it 
will be found with what perseverance the neces- 
sity of that identification has been reprobated. 
It will also be found, what wrath has been poured 
upon those who nriaintained its importance. 
They would not repose confidence in public men. 
That was the complaint. The not reposing con- 
fidence in public men, is another name for re- 
quiring that their interests should be identified 
with the interests of those whom they govern! 
And the confidence itself is another name for 
scope to misrule. The author of Hudibras said 
well ; all that the knave stands in need of is to 
be trusted ; after that, his business does itself. 
Sir James stood in the first rank of those who 
called out for confidence in public men, and 
poured contumely on those who sought the 
identity of interests. 

The words in which Sir James has unfolded 
his sapience would afford the reader some sport. 
But the work is getting bulky ; and I shall only 
notice an expression or two, which contain some- 
thing like new matter of accusation. 

Sir James gives us his opinion about two 
things ; one of which he says is right, the other 
wrong ; and the wrong he lays to the charge of 
Mr. Mill. But Mr. Mill has no concern with 
either. Sir James's wrong thing may be either 



293 



wrong or right, his right thing may be either 
right or wrong ; and Mr. Mill's reasoning stands 
unaffected in either case. 

It is a wrong thing, he says, to attempt to 
explain the immense variety of political facts, by 
the simple element of a contest of interests. 

Be it so, to please Sir James ; but Mr. Mill has 
not sought to explain the immense variety of 
political facts at all. All that Mr. Mill attempted 
was, to shew how a community could obtain the 
best security for good legislation ; and that he 
said, was, by establishing, as far as possible, an 
identity of interests between the law-makers and 
themselves. 

Does Sir J ames dispute that position ? 
Sir James's bad thing we have thus seen. His 
good thing is, to refer the immense variety of 
political facts (these are surely all the facts of 
history) to that variety of passions, habits, 
opinions and prejudices, which we discover only 
by experience. Sir James's enumeration, far as 
he thinks it goes beyond Mr. Mill, is by no 
means complete. Sir James, for example, does 
not include reason among the principles in human 
nature, which account for historical facts. I, on 
the contrary, am of opinion, and I have no doubt 
that Mr. Mill is with me, that the whole nature 
of man must be taken into account, for explaining 
the " immense variety " of historical facts. 

But between this proposition, that the whole 



294 



of human nature is to be taken into account, in 
explaining the immense variety of historical 
facts: and this other proposition, that the best 
security for good government is found in the 
identity of interest between the governors and 
the governed, did Sir James perceive any con- 
trariety? 

The European public has been a good deal 
occupied of late, in discussing the fact, and con- 
sidering the reasons, of the decline of the Physical 
Sciences in England. The degraded state of the 
moral sciences is a thing still more lamentable. Of 
our sad condition in this respect, the work of 
Sir James is a monument. Any thing so dis- 
creditable to the literature of England, as such a 
book, allowed to pretend to the highest honors, 
in its highest department, is new in its history. 

This first of the instances adduced by Sir James 
to prove that the advocates of utility philosophize 
in the wrong way, turns out, therefore, to be an 
instance of philosophizing in the right way. We 
shall easily shew that the same is the case with 
his second instance, the Treatise on Education. 

To do justice to Sir James's words, they must 
be quoted ; and for easier reference I shall 
number the sentences. 

" 1. Mr. Mill's Essay on Education, affords 
another example of the inconvenience of leaping 
at once from the most general laws, to a multi- 
plicity of minute appearances. 2. Having as- 



295 



suraed, or at least inferred from insufficient pre- 
mises, that the intellectual and moral character is 
entirely formed by circumstances, he proceeds, in 
the latter part of the essay, as if it were a neces- 
sary consequence of that doctrine, that we might 
easily acquire the power of combining and direct- 
ing circumstances in such a manner as to produce 
the best possible character. 3. Without dis- 
puting for the present the theoretical proposition, 
let us consider what would be the reasonableness 
of similar expectations in a more easily intelligible 
case. 4. The general theory of the winds is 
pretty well understood ; we know that they pro- 
ceed from the rushing of air from these portions 
of the atmosphere which are more condensed, into 
those which are more rarefied ; but how great a 
chasm is there between that simple law and the 
great variety of facts which experience teaches us 
respecting winds ! The constant winds between 
the tropics are large and regular enough to be in 
some measure capable of explanation ; but who 
can tell why, in variable climates, the wind blows 
to-day from the east, to-morrow from the west ? 
Who can foretell what its shiftings and variations 
are to be ? Wlio can account for a tempest on 
one day, and a calm on another? Even if we 
could foretell the irregular and infinite variations, 
how far might we not still be from the power of 
combining and guiding their causes? 5. No 
man but the lunatic in the story of Rasselas ever 



296 



dreamt that he could command the weather. 
The difficulty plainly consists in the multiplicity 
and minuteness of the circumstances which act 
on the atmosphere. Are those which influence 
the formation of the human character likely to be 
less minute and multiplied ? " 

1. Sir James says, he produces "another" 
example of "the leaping from general laws to a 
multiplicity of minute appearances." He had 
produced no example of this saltation before. 
This " another " is therefore another instance of 
the mode in which Sir James draws upon the 
credulity of his reader. Mr. Mill's Essay on 
Government, in shewing that what makes a re- 
presentative body to be the real choice of the 
people produces also an identity of interests 
between that body and the people, does not leap 
from the most general laws to a multiplicity of 
minute particulars. 

But, good God ! what language is this ? Did 
Sir James not know that the business of philo- 
sophy consists of two great functions ; 1, from 
the examination of particulars to ascend to general 
laws ; 2, from the knowledge of general laws, to 
descend to particulars : that is, if we use the fine 
language of Sir James, it consists of two leaps ; 
1, from particulars to generals ; 2, from generals 
to particulars. Sir James parades the philosophy 
of Bacon ; and yet so little knows he wherein it 
consists, that he marks out a case of the strictest 



297 



adherence to the precepts of Bacon, as a departure 
from the true mode of philosophizing. 

2. " Having assumed that the intellectual and 
moral character is entirely formed by circum- 
stances." Sir James should have informed us, 
what in this phrase he means by " circumstances." 
" Formed by circumstances " appears to mean 
formed hy something. Does Sir James accuse 
Mr. Mill of error, in saying that the intellectual 
and moral character is formed hy something ? If 
so, I doubt not that Mr. Mill will very readily 
plead guilty to the charge ; and to this further 
charge, of saying that we ought most carefully 
to inquire what that something is. In truth, 
Mr. Mill's object is to shew, that a perfect work 
on Education would do two things ; 1, it would 
ascertain what the means are of forming the in- 
tellectual and moral character ; % it would give 
rules for the best application of them to that end. 

Well ; Mr. Mill having presumed to think, 
that the intellectual and moral character is formed 
hy something; in which Sir James takes the 
liberty modestly to differ from him ; " proceeds, 
as if it were a necessary consequence of that 
doctrine, that we might easily acquire the power 
of combining and directing circumstances in such 
a manner as to produce the best possible cha- 
racter." Oh ! no. There it pleased Sir James 
entirely to mistake the matter. Mr. Mill repre- 
sents the best possible education as a very diffi- 



298 



cult, not a very easy thing. But he says that we 
may, and that we ought, with our utmost en- 
deavour, to make the best possible use of the 
means we possess toward the formation of good 
intellectual and moral characters ; and that the 
difference between the intellectual and moral 
characters formed by the worst and the best 
education is immense. 

That is the matter of fact, very different, it 
appears, from that which it was the purpose of 
Sir James to make people believe. 

3. We may pass the third sentence without any 
remark. 

4. This goes beyond driveling. It is more of 
the nature of raving. Because we can do nothing 
to produce winds, though we know the causes of 
winds ; does Sir James desire us to conclude, that 
we can do nothing towards the producing of good 
intellectual and moral characters ? As well 
might he infer that we can do nothing towards 
the making of a good shoe. The reason why we 
can do nothing toward the making of winds, is, 
because we have no power over the causes of 
winds ; the reason why we can do a great deal 
towards the formation of the intellectual and 
moral character, is, because we have great power 
over the means of that formation. Mercy on us ! 
And Sir James did take these two cases for 
parallels I 

The reason why we can predict the winds, as 



299 



little nearly as we can act upon them, is, that we 
know little or nothing of the order in which the 
causes of them take place. But we know a great 
deal about the order of the causes which operate 
to the formation of a good character. 

5. This is the last sentence of Sir James's well- 
considered and well-meant attack upon the sup- 
porters of the principle of utility with which we 
shall trouble the reader. 

Does Sir James, then, mean to give it out, that 
when the causes which co-operate to any effect 
are " minute and multiplied," it would be absurd 
to attempt to reduce them to order, or to frame 
rules for the direction of them to the attainment 
of the effects which we desire ? 

If so, he is not worth thinking of for a 
moment. If he only means to give us the in- 
formation, that many and minute circumstances 
do operate to the formation of character, nobody 
needed that information at his hands, at any rate 
not Mr. Mill, who has made a more comprehen- 
sive enumeration of those circumstances than any 
preceding writer. 

Does Sir James not know many instances, 
beside that of Education, in which, though cir- 
cumstances be minute and multiplied, we obtain 
a very complete command over them ? The cir- 
cumstances are minute, and multiplied, which in- 
fluence the course of a ship, from the Thames to 
the Ganges ; but we have obtained such a com- 



300 



mand over them, as generally to insure a par- 
ticular event. And here we may remark that 
even Sir James's intractable winds, are rendered 
the instrument of this steady result. 

The circumstances are minute, and multiplied 
to an infinite degree, which contribute to the 
supply of London, or any other great city, with 
the necessaries and luxuries which it consumes ; 
yet we can trace them all, to the one principle 
in human nature which produces that supply 
with invariable constancy, and measures it with 
ahnost incredible precision. 

Surely we have no occasion to give more in- 
stances. And surely we may affirm, that never, 
since philosophy began, was matter like this 
given to the world for philosophy before. 



301 



SECTION V. 

Sir James on " Ethical Theory." 

The view of Sir James is not complete, until, 
after having seen him at work on other men's 
doctrines, we see him at work also on his own. 

He makes delivery of what he denominates his 
ethical theory, in his seventh, or concluding 
section, called " General Remarks." 

For the reader's convenience I insert the Avhole 
passage, with the paragraphs numbered, in the 
Appendix.* 

The first three of the said paragraphs offer 
nothing for remark. In the fourth, Sir James, 
with his usual skill, begins a dissertation which 
was little to his purpose. 

It is introduced, by the notice of Brown's 
admission, that every act which is moral is also 
useful. Hereupon Sir James draws a conclusion. 
If this, says he, be true, then morality and utility 
should be considered reciprocally tests of each 
other. 

Does this mean, that wherever we find morality 



* Vide Appendix B. 



in an act, it is a test or proof that there is also 
utility in it ; and wherever we find utility in an 
act, it is also a test or proof that there is morality 
in it ? This is not an inference from Brown's 
admission ; it is sheer repetition ; Brown's admis- 
sion itself, only in obscure phrase. To say, that 
two things are always found together ; and next, 
that where you find one of them, you will find 
the other, is merely to affirm the same thing 
twice ; a very common method of inferring with 
Sir James. 

Let us go on. According to this doctrine of 
Sir James, that morality and utility are recipro- 
cally tests of each other, they are two separate 
things. The thing which tests is one thing ; the 
thing which is tested is another. 

Further ; when any thing is to be used as a 
test, it must first be known ; at least so far 
known, as to be distinguished from every other 
thing ; else we never can tell when we have got 
it. Now, then, when morality is to be used as 
a test of utility, how are we to know that we have 
it? Sir James gave it us, as a sort of disco verjT, 
long ago, that one out of the two grand objects 
of moral philosophy was, to tell us what morality 
is. Sir James has not any where yet told us 
what it is, nor attempted to do so. He is there- 
fore premature in instructing us to use it as a 
test. 

Sir James, however, does one thing here. He 



303 



contradicts the theory of utility. The theory of 
utility makes the utility of an act, and the morality 
of an act, two names for the same thing. Sir 
James says they are two things ; which recipro- 
cally test one another. Well, then, what we have 
vehement occasion to know is, what is the 
morality of an act, distinct from the utility of it ? 
What is it, in, and by itself, consisting purely of 
its own elements ? 

This talk about testing morality is away from 
the purpose. It is pure trifling. We do not 
want to know what is an indication of the pre- 
sence of morality. We want to know what 
morality is. 

Sir James, however, thinks we have not yet 
got talk enough about the tests ; he therefore 
gives us more, and of a truly curious kind. " It 
is hard," he says, " to say why morality and 
utility should not be reciprocally tests of each 
other, though in a very different way." This 
" different way," one would suppose to mean, 
that morality tests utility in one way, and utility 
tests morality in another way, and that the differ- 
ence between the two ways is great. Well, one 
looks forward after this, with some curiosity, to 
see how morality does its testing work on utility, 
and how utility does its testing work on morality. 
Sir James talks as follows ; " Morality and utility 
reciprocally test one another, in a very different 
way ; the virtuous feelings, fitted as they are by 



304 



immediate appearance, by quick and powerful 
action, being sufficient tests of morality in the 
moment of action ; while the consideration of 
tendency to general happiness, a more obscure 
and slowly discoverable quality, should be applied 
in general reasoning, as a test of the sentiments 
and dispositions themselves." 

Remark, first, that Sir James, by telling us 
that the virtuous feelings are the test of morality, 
informs us that they are not morality. This 
needs to be remembered. But, as he was to 
inform us how morality tests utility in one way, 
and how utility tests morality in another way, 
what had we to do, in this explanation, with the 
introduction of another test, which is neither the 
one nor the other? 

Sir James ought to have explained two things : 
1st, how morality was tested ; 2!ndly, how utility 
was tested ; they being tested, as he says, by one 
another, but in a different way. Sir James has 
given us his account of the testing of morality ; 
but has not said a word about the reciprocal 
testing of utility. He also now changes his 
account of the testing of morality, having told us 
first, that it was tested by utility, but now telling 
us that it is tested by feelings, and only at an 
after stage by utility ; by feelings in practice, by 
utility in speculation. 

This is a curious doctrine, this of the double 
test ; one for action, and one for speculation. 



305 



Sir James was ambitions of being a discoverer in 
moral science. Here he has succeeded. Assuredly, 
no man ever thought of testing in this fashion 
before. 

When a man acts from feeling, he acts from 
the strongest propensity. This is so strictly true, 
that the one term is but a substitute for the 
other. But among actions, when it is the feeling 
that selects, it is the strongest propensity that 
selects ; in other words, tests the eligibility, 
Le. the morality of the act, in the moment of action. 
This is as much as to say, that whatever a man, 
in the moment of action, feels himself most 
inclined to do, he does rightly, for his impulse is 
the test. In short, it is impossible for him to do 
wrong. And this is the sort of morality which 
all must come to, who make feelings their guide. 
We shall find other occasions of seeing how 
necessarily the morality of Sir James fixes itself at 
this standard. 

It is true, that Sir James uses the expression 
virtuous feelings." But what does the word 
" virtuous " avail him, while he leaves us unin- 
formed what the virtuous feelings are ? Again, 
what is the difference between one feeling and 
another, but that one sort impels us more fre- 
quently to good actions, another sort more fre- 
quently to bad ; not that any sort may not carry 
us to any act, even the most atrocious ? This 
we have already seen so clearly, that there is no 

X 



306 



need of adding to the illustration of it. It is 
therefore undeniably true, that following Sir 
James's virtuous feelings, as the test of the 
morality of his acts, a man might feel justified in 
the perpetration of any, the foulest, act that ever 
disgraced humanity. 

So much for Sir James's test in the moment of 
action. We must now consider what he has to 
say about the speculative test. 

That, he tells us, is utility. He tells us, also, 
how it is to be used. It is to be applied " in 
general reasoning." And it is to be applied " as 
a test of the sentiments and dispositions them- 
selves." 

A quantity of time must always be spent upon 
Sir James's mouthings, in order to get any thing 
definite which we can speak about. 

We must here suppose that what he calls " the 
sentiments and dispositions themselves," are " the 
virtuous feelings" he had just talked about— the 
tests in action. 

But what is it, to test a virtuous feeling ? 

That is by no means clear. Is it, to find out 
whether it is virtuous or not ? 

Further, in finding out whether a " virtuous 
feeling" is virtuous or not, by the test of utility, 
what is it we do ? Judge, whether it is useful 
or not? And in judging whether it is useful 
or not, do we not judge whether it produces useful 
actions or not? Is that feeling virtuous which 



307 



produces useful actions ; the contrary, the con- 
trary ? 

Well, then ; would Sir James have called any 
feeling virtuous, at the time when it was pro- 
ducing vicious acts ? There is no feeling of 
which more can be predicated, than that it com- 
monly impels us in the right direction ; none of 
which it cannot be predicated, that it does often 
impel in the wrong. Is it to be followed, when it 
impels in the wrong ? If not, then comes another 
question ; how are we to know whether it is impel- 
ling us in the right direction or the wrong ? Is 
there any other mode than asking, whether the 
action to which it urges, is good or bad ? And is 
it not good, or bad, according as it is useful, or 
hurtful ? But, if so, the test of utility is indis- 
pensable, even in the moment of action, notwith- 
standing Sir James's "virtuous feelings," and 
notwithstanding the unspeakable nonsense about 
them, with which he has deluged us. What end 
it is calculated to serve in speculation, we have 
still to inquire. 

Sir James tells us, that to this end it is to be 
applied, "in general reasoning," to test the vir- 
tuous feelings. I do not suppose that Sir James 
means "general reasoning" to be here taken in 
its proper sense ; for that is syllogizing. I sup- 
pose that he means it in the sense of general 
inquiry, investigation ; philosophizing, in short ; 
whether performed by analysis or synthesis, syl- 
logism or induction, x 2 



308 



Well, then, in our speculative hours, and doings, 
we may have recourse to utility. We may test 
by it the virtuous feelings. That is all the use 
which in Sir James's ethical system is to be made 
of utility. And what is it that a man, as he 
speculates, does, when he tests the virtuous feel- 
ings by utility? It does not appear that Sir 
James ever put to himself that question. And 
all the answer I can make for him is, that the 
man asks himself whether they are useful or not ? 

Now, if a man of sense puts to himself that 
question, it is very evident what answer he will 
return. He will say that, certainly, there is a 
considerable list of " feelings," called also " senti- 
ments and dispositions," by Sir James, which are 
useful ; and the most useful of them all is self- 
love ; because on that the very being of the 
species depends. But when all this is done, are 
we advanced one step in our inquiry? W^hat 
have we done, either to determine what morality 
is, in the abstract ; or what is to guide us in 
practice? Self-love, we know, though it moves 
us to many useful acts, moves us also to hurtful 
ones. The same is the case with social love in 
all its branches but the highest. 

Quitting the use of utility as a test, he goes 
on, in his sixth paragraph, to tell us two things 
more about it. He gives us what he calls " a 
clear, short, and unanswerable proof, that bene- 
ficial tendency is an essential quality of virtue." 



309 



Virtue must be taken here in tlie same sense with 
morahty. Then why quit the more precise word 
of the two? Let us try the predication upon 
morality; titility is a quality of moi'cdity. This, 
we see at once, will not do. Morality itself is a 
quality ; but a quality of a quality is nonsense. 

2. He further tells us, that " religion cannot 
subsist without a belief in benevolence as the sole 
principle of Divine government ; that therefore 
God acts upon the principle of utility ; but it is 
not a fit principle for man ; because man is not 
all-perfect." But why should not an imperfect, 
as well as a perfect being, act upon the principle 
of utility ? Why should he not do all the good 
he can ? 

It will now be convenient to see what all this 
amounts to. 

We have been told of something which is a 
test of morality : 

Of something which is a quality of morality : 
Of something which is a good motive to mo- 
rality, in the narrow sphere ; not good in the 
enlarged. 

But to tell us of a test of morality, and of a 
quality of morality, and of a motive to morality, 
which is both good, and not good, is not to tell 
us what morality is ; nor any approach to it. 

We are also told something about utility ; that 
it is a test of morality, which is as much as to 
say something different from morality ; that it is 



310 



a quality of morality, which is as much as to say, 
not morality, but something belonging to it ; that 
it is the principle of action in the Deity, but not 
fit to be the principle of action in man. 

Thus far Sir James has not spoken to his ques- 
tion, what makes an act to be moral ; but has 
evaded it. This, however, does not hinder him 
from proceeding with assurance to make dis- 
coveries about moral acts, which are truly his 
own. 

" Every moral act must be considered as an 
end." 

Of ends there are two kinds ; the intermediate, 
and the ultimate. And of these the intermediate 
are only means towards a farther end. They are 
not good in themselves ; they are good only as 
contributing to the attainment of something which 
is good. 

Now, in which of these two classes of ends did 
Sir James reckon moral acts ? Not certainly in 
that of ultimate ends. The only thing which is 
of value in an act is its consequences. The act 
itself, the muscular contraction, is indifferent, or 
painful, for the most part. Acts are performed, 
not for their own sake, but for the sake of their 
consequences. A voluntary act has no other 
meaning than that it is an act performed as the 
means to an end. 

But if moral acts cannot be classed among 
ultimate ends, they must, if at all classed as 



311 



ends, be classed among those which are secondary, 
or intermediate ; that is, which are means to 
some farther end. 

Now, then, what is the farther end, to which 
moral acts are the means ? On this subject. Sir 
James is silent as the grave. But this, it is evi- 
dent, is the very point which he was called upon 
to determine. 

In the paragraphs from the 7th to the 10th 
inclusive. Sir James puts and answers this ques- 
tion — " Why, if tendency to general welfare be 
the standard of virtue, is it not always present to 
the contemplation of every man who does or 
prefers a virtuous action ? Must not utility in 
that case be the felt essence of virtue ? Why are 
other ends, besides general happiness, fit to be 
pursued ? " 

Sir James replies : — " These questions, which 
are all founded on that confusion of the theory 
of actions with the theory of sentiments, against 
which the reader was so early warned, might be 
discussed with no more than a reference to that 
distinction." Sir James's reference is to a passage 
in the first section of his Dissertation, of which 
we have already given the reader an account ; 
where he tells us, that Mr. Bentham, with some 
other philosophers, take the moral qualities of 
acts, and the approbation bestowed upon them, 
for the same thing. No man, with exception of 
himself, ever did commit any such blunder. That 



312 



the present questions imply that confusion, Sir 
James is probably the only man in the world that 
would have affirmed. Dr. Brown says, for it is 
his objection which Sir James is dealing with, that 
if utility was the quality in acts to which moral 
approbation relates, the idea of that utility would 
be present to us in every act of moral approba- 
tion. But it is not so present. Therefore, &c. 
It is very evident that this objection not only 
does not imply the absurd supposition, that the 
approbation, and the thing approved, are one and 
the same thing ; but that it actually proceeds 
upon the supposition that they are different. 

Sir James expounds himself in the following 
words : — 

" By those advocates of utility, indeed, who 
hold it to be a necessary part of their system, that 
some glimpse, at least, of tendency to personal or 
general well-being, is an essential part of the 
motives which render an action virtuous, these 
questions cannot be satisfactorily answered. 
Against such they are arguments of irresistible 
force ; but against the doctrine itself, rightly un- 
derstood, and justly bounded, they are altogether 
powerless. The reason why there may, and 
must be, many ends morally more fit to be pur- 
sued in practice than general happiness, is plainly 
to be found in the limited capacity of man. A 
perfectly good being, who foresees and commands 
all the consequences of action, cannot indeed be 



313 



conceived by us to have any other end in view 
than general well-being. Why evil exists under 
that perfect government, is a question towards 
the solution of which, the human understanding 
can scarcely advance a single step. But all who 
hold the evil to exist only for good, and own 
their inability to explain why or how, are per- 
fectly exempt from any charge of inconsistency 
in their obedience to the dictates of their moral 
nature. The measure of the faculties of man 
renders it absolutely necessary for him to have 
many other practical ends ; the pursuit of all of 
which is moral, when it actually tends to general 
happiness, though that last end never entered 
into the contemplation of the agent. It is impos- 
sible for us to calculate the effects of a single 
action, any more than the chances of a single 
life. But let it not be hastily concluded, that the 
calculation of consequences is impossible in moral 
subjects. To calculate the tendency of every sort 
of human action, is a possible, easy, and common 
operation. The general good effects of tem- 
perance, prudence, fortitude, justice, benevolence, 
gratitude, veracity, fidelity, — of the affections of 
kindred, and of love for our country, — are the 
subjects of calculations which, taken as gene- 
ralities, are absolutely unerring. They are 
founded on a larger and firmer basis of more uni- 
form experience, than any of those ordinary cal- 
culations which govern prudent men in the whole 



314 



business of life. An appeal to these daily and 
familiar transactions furnishes at once a decisive 
answer, both to those advocates of utility who 
represent the consideration of it as a necessary 
ingredient in virtuous motives, as well as moral 
approbation, and to those opponents who turn 
the unwarrantable inferences of unskilful advo- 
cates into proofs of the absurdity into which the 
doctrine leads." 

" Those advocates. . . . glimpse of tendency. . . . 
part of motives," &c. This is the self-same 
puddle, with which we have already found Sir 
James endeavouring to bespatter Mr. Bentham, 
and those whom he will have to be Mr. Bentham's 
followers. Sir James, however, shews a grievous 
ignorance of those quacks and their quackery, 
alias, those philosophers and their philosophy, 
when he supposes they would be at any loss for 
an answer to Dr. Brown. Brown was but 
poorly read in the doctrine of association. Had 
he known it better he would have easily answered 
himself. It is no rare thing, in the higher cases 
of complex association, for an ingredient, and a 
main ingredient, to be concealed by the closeness 
of its union with the compound. Nor does it 
follow, that the general idea of utility is not pre- 
sent to the mind in moral approbation, because 
Dr. Brown was unable to trace it. Before the 
discovery of Berkeley, he would have been equally 
insensible of the presence of ideas of touch in 



315 



the perception of figure and magnitude by the 
eye. 

This paragraph, however, deserves more notice. 
It brings certain charges against the advocates 
of utility ; and it presents a theological disserta- 
tion on the existence of evil. 

The charges brought against the advocates of 
utility are two. 

First, they maintain, that some consideration of 
utility is an essential part of the motives which 
render an action virtuous." 

Secondly, they maintain, that a moral act can 
have no end but general utility. 

As these charges are repetition, the answer 
to them has been already given. It will only, 
therefore, be necessary to recall to the reader 
what he already knows. 

The first of the charges, as the reader will 
immediately recognise, is wholly untrue. The 
teachers of utility do not think that the consi- 
deration of utility is required in the motives of 
virtuous acts. The place for that consideration 
according to them is not the motive, but the 
intention of the agent ; a part of the mental pro- 
cedure, which it would seem Sir James had never 
adverted to. 

Sir James has also another assertion here, 
which will be scorned by every man who has any 
knowledge of the philosophy of the human mind. 
He says, it is th^ motives which make an action 



316 



to be virtuous. The virtue does not depend upon 
the motive. There is no bad motive. Every 
motive is the desire of good ; to the agent himself, 
or some one else. 

The second charge ; that the teachers of the 
principle of utility, regard utility as the only end 
of a virtuous act, is founded upon ignorance of 
the meaning of the word end ; profound igno- 
rance, it must be admitted. The end of an act 
is synonymous with the motive. The end, some- 
thing which is to be gained by the act, is that 
which moves to the act. This charge is therefore 
disposed of, in what we have replied to the first. 
The teachers of utility never considered utility as 
the end of every moral act. 

Sir James's reasons are commonly diverting 
things. The reason why the teachers of utility 
are wrong in doing what they never did is, that 
utility is unfit to be the end of such a being as 
man. One would think that the fact might have 
contented Sir James. The fact is, that men per- 
form moral acts with other ends. But Sir James 
having assigned unfitness, finds it necessary to 
prove the unfitness, and the reason of it is, that 
rnan is a limited being. But this is no reason at 
all. AVhy should not a being, as limited as man, 
have had as his only motive to the performance of 
good acts, the good which redounds from them ? 
No other reason can be assigned for his being 
made otherwise, but the will of that Being who 



31T 



did make him. Sir James says, that a limited 
being knows not all the consequences of his acts. 
But this is nothing to the purpose ; he might still 
follow his end with the benefit of all the lights he 
might have. 

Though Sir James had told us before, as a 
fundamental part of his doctrine, that man cannot 
calculate the consequences of acts ; he now tells 
us not to believe him. " Let it not," he says, 
" be hastily concluded, that the calculation of 
consequences is impossible, in moral subjects." 
And then he says, that the general tendency of 
the acts of a class is correctly understood by 
every body. But is not this all which is re- 
quired ? Is not that a perfect answer, given by 
Sir James himself, to all his spoutings against the 
principle of utility, because it is troublesome to 
calculate ? Can the man, who takes utility as his 
rule, do any thing better, than go upon the general 
tendencies of acts, where he does not foresee some 
unusual consequence ? A man takes food, know- 
ing the general tendency to be good. He only 
abstains, when he has some reason for expecting a 
different from the ordinary consequence. The 
rule is the same in the case of moral acts. 

Sir James's theological intrusion is only worth 
noticing, in a place where it has so little business 
to be found, for the curiosity of the sort. 

It amounts to this, that the men who believe 
that the evil found in this world exists for good. 



318 



though they cannot tell in what manner, are not 
inconsistent in acting morally. It is utterly im- 
possible to conceive what could induce a man to 
put down such a combination of words. Why 
should not we act morally, though there are 
many things which we cannot account for ; this — 
the existence of evil in a world constituted by 
perfect goodness, with the rest ? 

Sir James hardly writes a sentence in which 
there is not some blunder of expression. He 
says, that men, though they cannot account for 
the existence of evil, are not inconsistent in obey- 
ing " the dictates of their moral nature." Man's 
nature is immoral, as well as moral. Has he 
then two natures ? There is a large sect, indeed, 
who think that his nature is altogether immoral ; 
" conceived in sin, and brought forth in iniquity." 
Sir James meant to say, " the moral dictates of 
his nature ; " and did not know how to express 
himself. 

Sir James says, " the measure " (limited) " of 
the faculties of man renders it absolutely neces- 
sary for him to have many other practical ends : " 
(than general utility) — " the pursuit of all which 
is moral, when it actually tends to general happi- 
ness, though that last had never entered into the 
contemj^lation of the agent." 

" The pursuit of all of them is moral, when it 
actually tends to general happiness." Granted. 
" Though that last had never entered into the 



319 



Gontemplation of the agent." At this we 
demur. 

First of all, how is the agent to know that this 
pursuit of his, "actually tends to the general 
happiness," if it never enters into his contempla- 
tion ? Here would seem to be a limit to a man's 
obedience to his virtuous affections. But if it is 
one which he need not have in his contemplation, 
it is one which he need not apply. A limit which 
need not be applied, is no limit at all. The con- 
sequence of this doctrine is, that simple obedience 
to the virtuous {alias, unknown) affections, is 
simply and absolutely virtue. 

Next, if a man can be moral without any regard 
to utility, obeying simply one of the blind im- 
pulses of his nature, Sir James should have 
explained to U8, why the beasts should not be 
deemed moral agents? Upon this theory, they 
have all the requisites. 

Farther, Sir James ought to have told us, what 
check a man, acting from the impulse of his 
affection, without a thought of the utility of his 
acts, can feel, in perpetrating the greatest crimes 
for the benefit of his child or his friend ? A 
moral parent, a moral friend, go so far and no 
farther, in operating the good either of themselves, 
or of the individuals whom they love to serve. 
At what limit do they stop? Where general 
utility bids them, sanctioned as it is by the appro- 
bation and disapprobation of mankind. But how 



320 



can they stop where general utility bids them, if 
they have it not present to their minds ? 

Thus far Sir James has been replying to 
Dr. Brown. Dr. Brown had refused to admit 
the principle of utility as the principle of morality, 
because man pursues other ends than general 
happiness. The meaning must be, that the pur- 
suit of other ends than general happiness may be 
moral. This the assertors of utility never denied. 
Yet Sir James, in his wisdom, says, that the 
preachers of utility cannot reply to this objection. 
Why ? Because they say, that there can be no 
motive but one to a moral act. And this they do 
not say. 

Once more we are constrained to remark, that 
Sir James has not yet touched upon the question, 
what is morality. Here, however, he takes his 
leave of it. He now proceeds to the second part 
of his undertaking, that which he calls the 
" Theory of Sentiments," or the answer to the 
question, what is moral approbation and disap- 
probation ? 

Without the aid, then, of Sir James, we must 
place before ourselves a list of the requisites of a 
moral act ; because it serves to clear the way for 
our future progress. 

1. The motive. There is no act without a 
motive ; but, the motive in itself is neither moral, 
nor immoral. 

2. The volition. There is no act which is not 



321 



willed ; but the act of willing, is neither moral, 
nor immoral. 

3. What is called the external act ; to wit, the 
bodily imrt or motion. That, like the motive, is, 
in itself, neither moral nor immoral. The same 
bodily operation is indifferently a part of every sort 
of act. It is however a necessary part of every act. 

4. The consequences of the act. An act which 
has no consequences that are materially either 
beneficial or hurtful, is not called a moral act. 
That alone receives this denomination, which has 
consequences material to some one or more human 
beings. 

5. The expectation of the beneficial conse- 
quences in the mind of the agent. This hardly 
needs illustration, but take the following. 

A man gives a drug to another, expecting it 
will poison him. The act is immoral, because 
the expected consequences are pernicious. The 
actual consequences were salutary : the drug 
proved a sovereign remedy for a mortal disease. 
Reverse the case, and the act would be moral, 
though the actual consequences fatal. 

6. This is not all. It is not enough, to make 
an act moral, that the agent expects from it bene- 
ficial consequences to some body. It is farther 
necessary, that he have no reason to expect from 
it, evil consequences equivalent, to any other 
body : that is, in other words, that he have a 
conviction of its general utility. 

Y 



322 

All this is settled by universal consent ; it is 
vain, therefore, to think of disputing it. And 
this being premised, it will be seen, that no act of 
the rudest agent, performed with the smallest time 
for reflection, is moral, without a conviction in 
his mind of its general utility, how little soever 
Dr. Brown was able to perceive the existence of 
that ingredient. 

It is not possible to conceive any thing 
more ludicrous, than the airs with which Sir 
James presents himself on the stage, for the per- 
formance of his part, in this the second act 
of his piece. He decides, as if it were a thought 
for which the world is indebted to him, that 
association must account for the moral senti- 
ments : he next announces, that to make out the 
exposition, the task reserved for him, demanded 
miraculous powers ; but arduous as it was, he 
was endowed with a courage equal to the enter- 
prise, and was possessed of modesty withal ; for 
he did not promise to complete the analysis ; all 
he should absolutely promise was, to give an 
outline^ which would shew what might be done. 

Reader, if you are acquainted with the state of 
the facts, you need a , little time to compose your 
countenance. The vast undertaking which Sir 
James was thus announcing, with the rotund 
mouth, and about to set upon, with the spirit of 
a Samson, was a finished job. The thing was 
done. 



323 



Dr. Hartley carried on the important investiga- 
tion a certain way. He, after the Rev. Mr. Gay, 
propounded the opinion, that association would 
account for all the complex phenomena of the 
human mind ; and performed by means of it the 
analysis of some very important cases. With 
respect to the moral sentiments, he proceeded only 
so far as to render it probable that they might 
be strictly accounted for by association. And 
even Mr. Belsham, though not a metaphysician 
of much power, clearly understood the scope of 
Dr. Hartley's investigation, and added some useful 
reflections. 

Mr. Mill took up the subject where they left 
it, and prosecuted the inquiry to its end. He 
traced minutely the complex phenomena of moral 
approbation and disapprobation to simple ideas ; 
and shewed what simple ideas, combined by asso- 
ciation, constitute the phenomena. 

This being the matter of fact, not to be dis- 
puted, or evaded, I question whether a parallel 
to the following passage can be produced from 
the records of literature. 

Sir James, having introduced the subject, by 
seeking an answer to the question why, if moral 
approbation respects only the utility of voluntary 
acts, is it confined to that species of utility ; and 
having alleged that it is not a sufficient answer 
to say, that the application of moral approbation 
is limited by its end, the affording a motive to 

Y 2 



3^4 



beneficial acts, — goes on, in the eleventh of the 
paragraphs, as follows : — 

" To seek a foundation for universal, ardent, 
early, and immediate feelings, in processes of an 
intellectual nature, has, since the origin of philo- 
sophy, been the grand error of ethical inquirers 
into human nature. To seek for such a founda- 
tion in association, an early and insensible process, 
which confessedly mingles itself with our first 
and simplest feelings, and which is common to 
both parts of our nature, is not liable to the same 
animadversions. If conscience be uniformly pro- 
duced by the regular and harmonious co-operation 
of many processes of associations, the objection is 
in reality a challenge to produce a complete 
theory of it, founded on that principle, by exhi- 
biting such a full account of all these processes as 
may satisfactorily explain why it proceeds thus 
far and no farther. This would be a very arduous 
attempt, and perhaps it may be premature. But 
something may be more modestly tried towards 
an outline, which, though it might leave many 
particulars unexplained, may justify a reasonable 
expectation that they are not incapable of expla- 
nation ; and may even now assign such reasons 
for the limitation of approbation to voluntary 
acts, as may convert the objection derived from 
that fact into a corroboration of the doctrines to 
which it has been opposed as an insurmountable 
difficulty. Such an attempt will naturally lead 



325 



to the close of the present Dissertation. The 
attempt has indeed been already made, but not 
without great apprehensions, on the part of the 
author, that he has not been clear enough, espe- 
cially in those parts which appeared to himself to 
owe most to his own reflection. He will now 
endeavour, at the expense of some repetition, to 
be more satisfactory." 

The very first sentence of this passage is 
damning. Sir James says, it is rational to seek 
the origin of the moral sentiments in "associa- 
tion," but irrational to seek it in " intellectual 
processes." 

Did Sir James suppose that " intellectual pro- 
cesses" are not association ? 

Association is ** a process, which mingles itself 
with the composition of our first and simplest 
feelings." Could any man have written this, who 
knew any thing about association ? or any thing 
else which the mind consists of ? 

Association is the fferm, by which we express 
the fact, that one of our ideas is followed by 
another, according to certain laws ; and that two 
or more of them may be so drawn together as to 
form what we call a complex idea. 

" Our first and simplest feelings." These most 
assui^edly are, 1st, our sensations ; 2dly, our 
simple ideas, the copies of those sensations. There 
is no composition in those feelings. What was 
in the head of Sir James when he could talk of 



326 



the composition of a simple sensation, the compo- 
sition of a simple idea ? the composition of things 
which are not compounded ! 

Let us suppose that he did not mean sensations 
and simple ideas (in fact he did not know what 
he meant), but the simplest of our compound 
ideas ; and then let us see if he has more wisdom 
in his talk. 

The composition of compound ideas is the 
association of the simple ideas. Association and 
composition are here two names for the same 
thing. Now listen to Sir James. The " associa- 
tion of ideas is a process which mingles itself 
with the composition of ideas." In other words, 
association is a process which mingles itself with 
itself. Seeing is a process which mingles itself 
with sight. Good God ! ' ' 

I shall pass over a long passage which seems 
to be inserted chiefly for the purpose of shewing, 
that Sir James is acquainted with what it is not 
very easy not to be acquainted with, Newton's 
rules of philosophizing; with which rules. Sir 
James takes great pains to inform us, it is not 
inconsistent (did any body ever dream it was ?) to 
endeavour to account for the phenomena of the 
human mind on the principle of association : 
where, also, he touches upon a point, which is 
a favourite with him, the disinterestedness of 
human nature. Dugald Stewart and Dr. Brown 
had objected to the account which has been 



S27 



given of the social affections, as derived from 
organic pleasures by association ; alleging that 
this account established the selfishness of human 
nature. Sir James says, no ; the affections, 
though composed of selfish ingredients, are 
themselves social, and not selfish. 

Take notice, that, thus far, Sir James has only 
been announcing his purpose. He says now, 
" If conscience be uniformly produced by the 
regular and harmonious co-operation of many 
processes of association, the objection " (that it 
does not extend to utility in all its modes) " is in 
reality a challenge to produce a complete theory 
of it, founded on that principle, by exhibiting 
such a full account of all these processes as may 
satisfactorily explain why it proceeds thus far 
and no farther." And then follows Sir James's 
Pindaric on the heroism and modesty of him, 
who undertakes to furnish us with this com- 
plete theory." ^ 

What the words are remarkable for, is, the 
farther evidence they afford of Sir James's 
ignorance of association ; which he is going, 
nevertheless, with the air of a master, of the 
master, the top master, to apply to the formation 
of " a complete theory of conscience." 

He says, " conscience is produced by the re- 
gular and harmonious co-operation of many pro- 
cesses of association." This is strange. An act 
of moral approbation is one process, not many 



328 



processes. A process of association is the joining 
one idea to another, and then a third to the two, 
a fourth to the three, and so on, till the combina- 
tion is entire. What did Sir James think he 
meant by the co-operation of these processes ? 
He had, as usual, no meaning at all ; he had only 
words ; but he had some experience that they 
answered his purpose. 

Sir James proceeds to the exhibition of these 
processes. 

We must have his words before us. Words 
are the soul of Sir James. 

Those he gives us on this occasion occupy the 
l6th paragraph, the sentences of which, to facili- 
tate reference, I shall mark by numbers. 

" 1. When the social affections are thus formed, 
they are naturally followed, in every instance, by 
the will to do whatever can promote their object. 
2. Compassion excites a voluntary determination 
to do whatever relieves the person pitied. 3. The 
like process must occur in every case of gratitude, 
generosity, and affection. 4. Nothing so uni- 
formly follows the kind disposition as the act of 
will, because it is the only means by which the 
benevolent desire can be gratified. 5. The result 
of what Brown justly calls, ' a finer analysis,' 
shews a mental contiguity of the affection to the 
volition to be much closer than appears on a 
coarser examination of this part of our nature 
6. No wonder, then, that the strongest associa- 



329 



tion, the most active power of reciprocal sug- 
gestion, should subsist between them. 7* As all 
the affections are delightful, so the volitions, 
voluntary acts which are the only means of their 
gratification, become agreeable objects of con- 
templation to the mind. 8. The habitual disposi- 
tion to perform them is felt in ourselves, and 
observed in others with satisfaction. 9. As 
these feelings become more lively, the absence of 
them may be viewed in ourselves with a pain, in 
others with an alienation capable of indefinite in- 
crease. 10. They become entirely independent 
sentiments ; still, however, receiving constant 
supplies of nourishment from their parent affec- 
tions, which, in well-balanced minds, recipro- 
cally strengthen one another ; unlike the unkind 
passions, which are constantly engaged in the 
most angry conflicts of civil war. 11. In this state 
we desire to experience these heneficent volitions, 
to cultivate a disposition towards them, and to do 
every correspondent voluntary act. 12. They 
are for their own sake the objects of desire. 

13. They thus constitute a large portion of those 
emotions, desires, and affections, which regard 
certain dispositions of the mind and determina- 
tions of the will, as their sole and ultimate end. 

14. These are what are called the moral sense, 
the moral sentiments, or best, though most 
simply, by the ancient name of Conscience ; which 
has the merit, in our language, of being applied 



330 



to no other purpose, which peculiarly marks the 
strong working of these feelings on conduct, and 
which, from its solemn and sacred character, is 
well adapted to denote the venerable authority of 
the highest principle of human nature." 

As this passage contains the essence of Sir 
James's cogitations, it is matter of necessity to 
be particular with it, painful though it be to tax 
the reader s patience with so many repetitions of 
elementary truths, and so much scrutiny of words, 
only to give a precious specimen of what is done 
by a man, when he is making a desperate effort 
to appear learned on a subject of which he knows 
nothing. 

Sir James gives us a mess of ingredients of 
which to compound moral approbation. We 
have the social affections ; the volitions they pro- 
duce ; reciprocal suggestion between the two ; 
the mind's agreeable contemplation of such voli- 
tions, and voluntary acts ; the satisfaction with 
which the disposition to perform such volitions 
and acts is felt and observed ; the pain with 
which the absence of them is felt and observed ; 
the desire to experience beneficent volitions, to 
cultivate the dispositions, and perform the acts, 
together with emotions, desires, and affections, 
the end of which is benevolent volitions and dis- 
positions. 

There are three things here which it is neces- 
sary to disentangle, for they are jumbled together 



SSI 

by Sir James, in a confusion which is marvellous ; 
viz., the sentiments which precede the act ; the 
act itself ; and the sentiments which follow the 
act. The first six of the sentences relate to the 
sentiments which precede the act. The seventh, 
eighth, and ninth, relate to those which follow it. 
The tenth is obscure, but seems to revert to the 
sentiments which precede the act. The eleventh 
comes back to the sentiments which follow the 
act. The twelfth is a proposition which refers to 
the sentiments which precede the act, with the act 
following. The thirteenth relates to the senti- 
ments which precede the act. And the fourteenth 
relates to those which follow it. 

Let us endeavour to make out the propositions 
which he delivers in regard to each : and first, in 
regard to the sentiments which precede the act. 

1. The social affections are the sentiments 
which precede volitions. They are followed 
by volitions. 3. The volitions become inde- 
pendent sentiments ; though they receive con- 
tinual nourishment from their parent affections. 
4. The sentiments which precede the acts are for 
their own sakes the objects of desire ; as is also 
the act. 5. They constitute the sentiments which 
follow the acts. 

Let us next enumerate the propositions he gives 
us with respect to the sentiments which follow ; 
the only question which at present he had any 
thing to do with. 



332 



1. We contemplate the sentiments which pre- 
cede the acts with pleasure ; the want of them 
with pain. 2. By this pleasurable contemplation 
we desire the sentiments which precede the acts, 
and also the acts. 3. This desire is a desire of 
them for their own sakes. 4. The sentiments 
which follow the act are constituted by the senti- 
ments which precede it. 

And this is the account which Sir James gives 
of moral approbation and disapprobation. 

The detail is as follows : — 

Sentence 1st. " When the social affections are 
thus formed ; " formed as he had told us in the 
13th paragraph, " by the transfer of a small 
number of pleasures, perhaps organic, by the law 
of association, to a vast variety of new objects," 
(a very blundering expression of a fact which 
had been clearly expounded by Mr. Mill,) " they 
are followed by the will to do whatever can pro- 
mote their object." The object of a man's con- 
jugal affection is his wife. Sir James's declara- 
tion then is, that the husband, in consequence of 
his affection, wills to promote his wife. 

Sir James here confounds affection with desire, 
as formerly he confounded motive with intention. 
A man's affection for one of his fellow creatures 
involves the desire of doing him good, and that 
desire produces the will to perform, when occa- 
sion serves, acts calculated to contribute to his 
good. If this is Sir James's meaning, he only 



sss 



states a matter of fact, with which no human 
being, having the exercise of reason, is unac- 
quainted. Every body knows that a benevolent 
affection to any person means, with whatever 
else, a tendency, greater or less, to do him kind- 
ness. 

Sir James, in the first four of his sentences, 
having stated the deep, and hidden fact, that 
benevolent affections tend to produce benevolent 
acts, gives us a piece of notable information in 
the fifth. " The result of what Brown justly 
calls a finer analysis, shews a mental contiguity 
of the affection to the volition to be much closer 
than appears on a coarser examination of this 
part of our nature." Sir James was a prime 
hand at the finer examination. 

What does he mean by the mental contiguity 
of the affection to the will ? Did he suppose 
there is such a thing as a corporeal contiguity of 
two mental states ? 

But again, what idea had he in his head, when 
he used the word contiguity on this occasion ? 
Contiguity between compassion, for example, and 
the giving of alms. Does it express anything but 
the matter of fact ; that compassion for a man in 
want is very often followed by an act to relieve 
him ? If it be merely a statement of the fact, it 
answers no purpose ; if it be intended for an 
explanation of the fact, it explains nothing. 
When he says, that compassion is contiguous to 



334 



the will to relieve, does it mean anything else 
than that, somehow or other, the one follows the 
other ? If so, it is again a mere statement of the 
fact. If it means any thing else, what is it ? I 
am able to conceive but one other meaning. 
States of mind exist in sequence, one after 
another. This being so, two states of mind in a 
train may be either proximate, or they may be 
separated, by one or more intervening states. It 
may be said for Sir James, that he stated the com- 
passion and the volition, in this case, to be 
proximate states. In the first place, this as little 
accounts for the moral approbation of the act, as 
if the two states were ever so far asunder. The 
remark is away from the subject. In the next 
place, they are not proximate states. The sight 
of the beggar excites in me the idea of his dis- 
tress ; that suggests the idea of relief to his 
distress ; the idea of relief to distress is a plea- 
surable idea, that is, a desire ; the desire strongly 
suggests the idea of what will produce the effect 
desired ; that is, money ; that suggests the idea 
of where money is to be had, namely, in my 
pocket ; that suggests the idea of taking it out ; 
the idea of taking it out suggests the idea of the 
movement of my hand, which is followed by the 
appropriate muscular contraction ; the money in 
my hand suggests the idea of putting it into the 
hand of the beggar ; that idea suggests the idea 
of the operation necessary, and the muscular con- 



335 



traction follows. Such is the result of " the finer 
analysis" which Sir James talked of. It does 
the very reverse of what he expected. It shows 
that contiguity is not the relation in which the 
affection stands to the volition. 

However, Sir James, having established his 
contiguity in his own way, that is, by making a 
proposition asserting it, tells us what happens in 
consequence. " The most active power of reci- 
procal suggestion subsists between them." This 
is incomprehensible. Reciprocal suggestion be- 
tween A and B can only mean this, that A 
suggests B, and back again B suggests A. But 
who before ever talked of a will's being suggested ; 
an affection's being suggested ? A will is caused; 
an affection is caused. Now an affection may, in 
some sense, be considered as cause, though a 
remote, not the proximate cause, of the volitions 
which may be traced up to it ; but what exqui- 
site absurdity in saying, that affection is cause, 
will effect ; and reciprocally, will is cause, affec- 
tion effect ? The effect produces the cause, as the 
cause produces the effect. It could not, I think, 
have been believed, till the experience of the fact, 
that the habit of using words without annexing 
ideas to them, could have carried any man to this 
excess. 

In the 10th sentence we are told, " they be- 
come entirely independent sentiments." 

It is not very easy to find out what is the 



336 



antecedent to " they." After a search, which goes 
back to the seventh sentence, it appears to be the 
volitions which are contiguous to the affections. 

He says these volitions are independent. He 
might just as well have called them green or 
globular. If independent, of what are they inde- 
pendent ? Not surely of the desire which causes 
them. Nor is the desire which causes them inde- 
pendent of the contemplated pleasure by which 
itself is caused. The pleasure of him who wills 
is still the cause of the will. If Sir James means 
that the will depends upon nothing but the 
man who wills ; what is that more than to say, 
he that wills, wills ? 

But this is not all ; these independent volitions 
have affections for their parents. This is a 
curious way of talking of the volitions which 
spring from the desires included in the complex 
state of mind we call an affection. But it is still 
more curious to tell us that volitions " receive 
nourishment." What idea is it possible to annex 
to that expression ? Nourishment performs two 
operations ; it contributes to growth, and it pre- 
serves alive ? Volition has no occasion for either. 
Volition is a momentary state of mind. Its ge- 
neration and extinction, are not only proximate ; 
they are almost simultaneous. 

A volition, says Sir James, is continually 
" receiving supplies of nourishment from its 
parent affections." Sir James, when talking, of 



337 



volition, seems to have thought of something like 
a sucking pig. 

If he meant to say, that a benevolent affection 
toward an individual tends to produce a succes- 
sion of benevolent acts ; this is not nourishing a 
volition, it is the causing of many volitions. 

Further, if this be the meaning, it is a bare 
repetition of what we have had occasion to remark 
on before, the statement of a well-known fact, 
which has no bearing on the question Sir James 
is at work upon. 

On account of what follows, it is necessary to 
notice the concluding expressions of the sentence, 
which go back to the parent affections, to tell us 
something important about them. They, " in 
well balanced minds, reciprocally strengthen each 
other ; unlike the unkind passions, which are 
constantly engaged in the most angry conflicts of 
civil war." 

To say that gratitude, compassion, and other 
social affections, reciprocally strengthen each 
other, is to tell us something of this sort, that a 
man's compassion for A is stronger for his grati- 
tude to B ; his kindness to his servant stronger 
on account of his love for his wife; the love of his 
wife stronger on account of his kindness to his 
servant, and so on. By the same theory, his love 
of his wife ought to be the stronger, the more he 
loves other women ; an inference which wives in 
general do not allow. 

z 



3S8 



But it seems the case is totally different with 
the dissocial affections. They do not strengthen 
each other. They operate to mutual destruction. 
An admirable operation, surely ; for if such prin- 
ciples exist, the very thing to be desired is, that 
they should oppose and extinguish one another, 
by being, as Sir James, in Blackmore phrase, in- 
forms us, " continually engaged in the most 
angry conflicts of civil war," citizen against 
citizen, son against father, father against son. 

Sir James, at the same time, gives us to un- 
derstand, that of the conflicts of civil war, some 
are more angry, and some less ; but that the 
conflicts in the civil war of the dissocial affec- 
tions, that is, the conflicts or battles of one dis- 
social affection with another, which it seems are 
perpetual, are the most angry of all. 

Now general opinion, which appears in this 
case to be the faithful interpreter of general expe- 
rience, holds, that in so far as there are any ties 
of affinity among affections of the same genus, 
those among the dissocial are even stronger than 
those among the social ; that anger does not 
oppose hatred, nor hatred anger, but the con- 
trary; that jealousy does not oppose envy, nor 
envy jealousy, nor either revenge, but the re- 
verse. 

But what there is of truth in the case, mangled 
in Sir James's talk, about the strength which one 
social affection derives from another, the angry 



339 



conflicts of civil war in which one dissocial affec- 
tion is continually engaged with another, is this ; 
that the mind passes from one state to another of 
a similar kind, more easily and readily, than it 
does to one of a dissimilar kind. Something of 
this readiness is no doubt observed in the states 
of mind we call the social affections. They do, 
to a certain degree, go together, but in a very 
irregular and unsteady way. It by no means 
follows, because a man is fond of his wife, and 
pliant to her will, that he is not a hard-hearted, 
oppressive brute. It by no means follows, because 
a man has affection towards his children, that he 
has much fellow-feeling with the rest of his 
species. We know perfectly well, that the most 
intense friendship and affection to individuals can 
exist in the most savage and remorseless of all 
human minds; witness the tendency to favouritism 
in the worst of tyrants. 

And so totally does Sir James miss the matter 
(no rare thing, you will say, with Sir James), that 
this tendency to pass from one affection to an- 
other of the same kind, is far more constant in 
the case of the dissocial, which, according to him, 
are in continual conflict, than in the case of the 
social, which, according to the same authority, 
are continually strengthening one another. 

The 12th is the next sentence, relating to the 
sentiments which precede the act, and it might be 
considered a miracle, if Sir James did not treat 

z 2 



340 



us to so many things of the same sort. " They" 
(the sentiments which precede the act, and the act 
itself) " are for their own sakes, the object of 
desire." 

We need not go further back than to the voli- 
tion. A volition exists for the sake of an act. 
An act exists for the sake of its consequences. 
Neither a volition, therefore, nor an act, ever is 
an object of desire for its own sake. I will to 
move my arm ; not for the sake of willing, but 
of something else. I move ray arm, not for the 
sake of moving it, but the consequences, — the 
striking down a serpent, for example, making 
ready to bite a person who is dear to me. 

Wonderful as is the 12th sentence, the 13th 
surpasses it. " They " (the states of mind which 
precede the act) " thus constitute a large portion 
of those emotions, desires, and affections, which 
regard certain dispositions of the mind, and deter- 
minations of the will as their sole and ultimate 
object." By " large portion " he means all 
that relates to benevolence, and only reserves 
what relates to courage and the self-regarding 
virtues, which are to be expounded subsequently. 

" The desires, aversions, sentiments, or emo- 
tions," which have dispositions and actions for 
their end, were, in the article on Butler, spoken of 
as motives, " Among motives to action," said Sir 
James, " they alone are justly considered as uni- 
versal." 



341 



We are here told how they are constituted. 
They are constituted by the sentiments spoken of 
in the preceding or 12th sentence. But these 
also are the sentiments which precede the act. 
What we are told then in the 13th sentence is, 
that the sentiments which precede the acts are 
constituted by themselves. And in the 14th we 
come to the grand development. The sentiments 
which precede the act, which are constituted by 
themselves, are the sentiments which follow the 
act ; " what are called," says Sir James, " the 
moral sense, moral sentiments, or conscience'' In 
other words, the object of moral approbation, and 
moral approbation, are one and the same thing. 

Let us, however, try, if the words will bear 
another meaning. Let us suppose, that " the 
desires, aversions, sentiments, or emotions," 
which have actions for their end, are not motives, 
as Sir James called them before, or the sentiments 
which precede the act ; but moral approbation 
and disapprobation, or the sentiments which follow 
it. First of all, it is curious to call moral appro- 
bation and disapprobation, by the name of " de- 
sires, aversions, sentiments, emotions." It seems 
to be a state of mind of a different order. In the 
next place. Sir James says, this approbation or 
disapprobation is constituted, which here must 
mean caused, by the acts, mental and corporeal 
parts included. But the act which causes moral 
approbation is the act approved. What Sir 



James then says is,^ — that when I approve a 
moral act, a desire, sentiment, or emotion, one or 
all, is constituted in me, by that which I approve. 
Which seems to me to amount to this, that what 
I approve excites in me approbation. Or, in other 
words, moral approbation is what it is. 

There is still, however, a puzzle. Sir James 
says, these desires, &c., alias^ this approbation, 
has acts for its end. If this means that acts 
are its object ; that is, that acts are the things 
approved, it is a truth, though monstrously 
expressed, and of which no mortal needed to be 
informed. But when Sir James says, that this 
approbation, which, in order to exist, must be 
caused, and of which, according to the above 
interpretation, the cause is the end, has acts for 
its end, what does that mean? that beside the 
acts which caused, there are other acts which are 
to be caused by it ? And in Sir James's use of 
language, are both the cause, and the effects, of 
an action, to be called its end ? This is rather 
confusing. 

Sir James tells us more about this moral sense, 
or conscience, in the 7th, 8th, and 9th sentences, 
lie there says, we have a pleasure in contem- 
plating moral acts, the contrary in contemplating 
immoral acts. This is tantamount to saying, 
that we have the faculty of moral approbation 
and disapprobation, called also, as he tells us, 
" the moral sentiments, moral sense, conscience." 



343 



We tell him once more, that we had no occasion 
for this information, at his hands. 

Besides a pleasure in the contemplation of a 
moral act, Sir James, in the 11th sentence, says, 
that under the influence of this pleasure we have 
a desire to perform similar acts. But this is only 
another part of that very unnecessary information 
which Sir James is giving us ; that we have the 
moral sentiments. Did Sir James not know, that 
in moral approbation there is both a pleasure and 
a desire? Moral approbation is a pleasurable 
sentiment, as all the world knows. Also, when I 
feel moral approbation, is not that as much as to 
say, I feel the desirableness of the act ? and can 
any thing else be meant, by saying we desire to 
perform such acts ? 

Sir James's wording is always original. " We 
desire to experience volitions." To experience a 
volition is to will. But what is the will? 
Answer: Desire of an act. To desire to will, 
therefore, is to desire to desire. 

" We desire to cultivate a disposition towards 
a volition." As a disposition towards a volition 
is the habit of obeying the motives to it, this is 
the same desire as the former. 

Sir James also here speaks of voluntary acts 
correspondent to volitions. Did he imagine that 
there are voluntary acts not so correspon- 
dent ? 

Sir James comes at last to the act, and says, our 



344 



desire also is to perform it. He might, in that 
case, have spared his talk about the volition, and 
the disposition. The man who desires the act 
desires the mental part of it as well as the cor- 
poreal. All is included in the act. 

A few explanatory words on disposition are 
necessary, to obviate ill effects from the confusion 
of Sir James's. Mr. Mill has analysed and ex- 
plained disposition ; and shewn it to be a readiness 
of being acted upon by a particular class of mo- 
tives. This readiness is produced by repetition. 
A desire to cultivate a disposition is, therefore, a 
desire to repeat the acts. 

And now it will be agreeable to have the pro- 
positions by which we have - been conducted to 
this important point, before us, in order : — 

1. 

Affections are formed by the transfer of plea- 
sures to new objects. 

Affections are followed by volitions to gratify 
them. 

3. 

The affections are contiguous to the will. 
4. 

Between the affections and the will there is an 
active power of mutual suggestion. 



345 



The idea of benevolent acts, the bodily and 
mental parts both included, is a pleasurable 
idea. 

6. 

The volitions are independent sentiments. 
7. 

These volitions have affections for their parents^ 
and receive nourishment from their parents. 

8. 

The benevolent affections strengthen one an- 
other ; the angry fight. 

9. 

When the kind passions are in operation, we 
desire to do kind acts, mental and corporeal parts 
included. 

10. 

Benevolent acts, mental and corporeal parts 
included, are desired for their own sakes. 

11. 

Benevolent acts, mental and corporeal parts 
included, constitute emotions, desires, and affec- 
tions, which have acts (mental and corporeal 
parts included) for their ends. 



346 



12. 

These emotions, desires, and affections, are the 
moral faculty, moral approbation. 

We have thus, as far as the benevolent motives 
are concerned, Sir James's " Theory" complete. 

1, Feelings, or affections, which are moral, 
cause actions which are moral : Answer to the 
question, what is morality ; — a moral act is 
that which is caused by a moral affection. 

2, These feelings, which cause moral acts, are 
moral approbation, or the cause of it ; doubtful 
which. In the first sense, the cause and the 
effect are the same. In the second, the affirma- 
tion is, that moral approbation is the approbation 
of moral acts. 

I am afraid to spend more time in illustrating 
the mode in which Sir James has brought us to 
these wonderful conclusions ; and I am also afraid 
to make such a call upon my reader for attentive 
thought, as the brevity of my exposition ^obliges 
me to hazard. Another part of Sir James's 
theory now comes into view. 

The benevolent feelings play the great part, 
but not the only one, in Sir James's "theory;" 
the malevolent feelings come in for their share. 

" When anger is duly moderated, when it is 
proportioned to the wrong, when it is det iched 



347 



from personal considerations, when dispositions 
and actions are its ultimate objects, it becomes a 
sense of justice, and is so purified as to be fitted 
to be a new element of conscience." 

It looks strange, at first, to see anger made an 
ingredient of conscience. This is doing business 
with the feelings to some extent. 

Observe the wording. " When anger is pro- 
portioned to the wrong, it becomes a sense of 
justice." How does the angry man know when 
his anger is proportioned to the wrong, except by- 
applying to it his sense of justice ? He has the 
sense of justice therefore before he makes his 
anger such a sense ; and then what is the use of 
his operation? 

" When detached from personal considerations." 
What does that mean ? When is a man's anger 
detached from personal considerations ? Is it 
when he is angry for a wrong, not done to him- 
self, but to some other body ? It is not com- 
monly in that case difficult to keep one's anger 
from running to excess. The restraint of con- 
science is needed principally when it is our own 
wrongs we are resenting. 

An anger detached from personal considera- 
tions, may mean an anger detached from persons 
or individuals. If so, it can only be anger, on 
account of wrongs done to the public. This kind 
of anger, it is not generally very difficult to keep 
within bounds. 



348 



Angerf among other things, means the desire 
of punishment on the wrong-doer. 

But punishment of public wrongs is for the 
sake of prevention, not of revenge. It regards 
future acts, not the past. The past act is done, 
and cannot be made not to be done. With 
respect to that, punishment would be altogether 
useless ; therefore unjustifiable. But with respect 
to future acts, which require prevention, punish- 
ment, just sufficient to create a motive for abstain- 
ing from them, and no more, is all that is good. 
And this requires no anger. Punishment of this 
sort is better managed without anger. 

To make anger an element of conscience, it 
must conform to another condition. It must 
have " dispositions and actions for its ultimate 
objects." 

We have been puzzled, before, to make out, in 
Sir James's philosophy, whether the feelings which 
have dispositions and actions for their objects, 
and which he calls emotions, desires, affections, 
are those feelings which precede, or those which 
succeed the act. We seem here to be relieved of 
that difficulty. It is evident that anger is caused 
by an act. We are angry at something done. 
The anger follows the act. When Sir James 
then says, that anger has actions for its object, 
does he mean by object, cause ? And if the act 
which causes it, is not its object, what is the 
other act to which he gives that name ? It is 



349 



deplorably true, that Sir James calls sometimes 
the cause of an act, and sometimes its effect, its 
object. He leaves us here in doubt whether he 
means the one or the other. Is this worthy of 
the man who told us, in so high a tone, in the 
beginning of the article on Bentham, that he was 
capable of performing, and had performed, the 
part of a consummate judge of the philosophers 
of all ages and nations ? 

Sir James, by saying, "when it has actions for 
its ultimate objects," undoubtedly means, that 
there are times when it has not. But there can 
be no time when it has not a cause. His lan- 
guage, then, here implies (whether he meant it 
God knows ! ) that we are to consider effects as 
the "objects" spoken of. Now what acts are 
the effects of anger ? The acts of course of the 
angry man. What are they ? Acts of revenge. 
Sir James says, the anger which prompts them 
is an element of conscience, when it is detached 
from personal considerations. Is not this a satis- 
factory account of moral disapprobation? The 
cause of the act (the anger) becomes conscience, 
when the angry man is not angry for any 
harm done to himself, nor acts, under his anger, 
with a view to procure any good to himself. He 
can do nothing, in short, under the impulse of his 
anger, which is wrong, provided it is not done on 
his own account. 

Sir James having thus formed a conscience for 



850 



benevolent acts, and also for malevolent acts, in 
certain cases, bethought himself that a conscience 
was also needed for heroic acts, and temperate 
acts. I say bethought himself, literally, not 
ironically, because in telling us what makes an 
act moral, he entirely overlooked these classes. 
He gave us his account, such as it vras, why 
benevolent acts are called moral. We have as 
yet no information from him, why acts of justice 
are moral, or acts of courage, or acts of tem- 
perance. He is now however going to tell us 
how courage and temperance "become parts of 
conscience." 

On courage he discourses in the 18th of the 
paragraphs we have quoted above ; and to save 
transcription, I shall entreat the reader to refer to 
it, and peruse it. The result, as given in the 
last sentence is, " that courage, energy, decision, 
contribute to form conscience, which levies large 
contributions on every province of human nature." 

The contributions which conscience is here said 
to levy are things to form part of itself. Con- 
science, it seems, levies these contributions from 
every province of human nature. That is to 
say, conscience is made up of parts from every 
province of human nature. Is not this another 
instance, and that a remarkable one, of the habit 
which possessed Sir James, of putting words 
together without regard to their meaning? Is 
not the faculty of receiving sensations, a pretty 



351 



large and important province in human nature ? 
What are the sensations which go to the formation 
of conscience ? Those of the touch, those of the 
eye, or what other ? 

But is not the present talk of Sir James about 
the reception into conscience of the various affec- 
tions of human nature, the impulse of courage 
included, inconsistent with what, instructed by 
Butler, whom he professes to follow, he told us 
formerly, that conscience is a faculty apart from 
all the active principles, the impulses, of human 
nature ; they pursuing, each its own object, with- 
out regard to good or evil ; and conscience having 
for its province to dictate when they are to be 
obeyed, and when resisted ? 

Sir James appears to have known about as 
much of the philosophy of courage, as he did of 
" The First Book of Euclid," of which he was 
not ignorant that it was about diagrams. As 
and Bs. 

Sir James had no notion, that courage is in 
itself a mere rating of the chance of certain evils 
at less than the good which is sought by incurring 
it ; and just as capable of being employed for the 
worst of purposes as for the best. Sir James, 
indeed, admits, " that the nature of courage, 
energy, and decision, is prone to evil ; " which is 
not true. Courage is not more prone to evil 
than good, nor to good than evil. The man who 
has it, uses it according to his propensities, good 



352 



or bad. It is power ; and like every other kind 
of power affords temptation to the man who has 
it, to make a bad use of it. And it must be con- 
fessed that it operates hurtfully in another way. 
It has a great effect on the imagination ; and is 
not without a certain admiration attached to it, 
even when it is employed mischievously ; whence 
it has been one great cause of the perversion of 
the moral sentiments. 

When Sir James talks about the wild state of 
courage, in which state it is savage and destruc- 
tive, he entirely misses the matter. Courage is 
not more savage in one state than another ; but 
man is ; and uses his courage more often for 
savage purposes. And when he talks about its 
being tamed by the affections, he only gives us 
some of his nonsense. When a man becomes 
wise and virtuous, he uses his courage for good 
purposes. And this Sir James (God bless us) 
calls the taming of courage by the society of the 
affections. I shall pass over the tasteful compa- 
rison of a tamed courage with a tamed elephant, 
and Sir James's panegyric upon the tamed cou- 
rage, and come to " the delightful contemplation 
of it." Whatever was in the head of Sir James, 
when he set down these words, if there was any 
thing in it beyond the words themselves, even 
young learners, in this science, know that there 
can be only one thing which is the delightful 
contemplation of courage. It is the idea of it, as 



S53 



a cause of good ; that is, the idea of it joined by 
association with the ideas of all the good things, 
some of them of the highest value, of which it 
may be considered as, in some way, the cause. 
And that idea is a pleasurable idea ; pleasurable 
sometimes in a very high degree. 

What next does he tell us about this idea? 
It " becomes, when purely applied, one of the 
sentiments of which the dispositions and actions 
of voluntary agents are the direct and final 
object." 

" When purely applied." When is it that the 
idea of courage is impurely applied ? 

" The idea of courage becomes (is) a sentiment." 
What sort of a sentiment ? " One of those which 
have voluntary acts for their object." Does object 
here mean cause, or effect ? 

Sir James's ideas are so exquisitely confused, 
that it is impossible to trace his syntax. He 
says, " the delightful contemplation of these quali- 
ties" (the courageous qualities), "when purely 
applied, becomes one of the sentiments, of which 
the dispositions and actions of voluntary agents 
are the direct and final object. By this resem- 
blance thei/ are associated with the other moral 
principles, and with them contribute to form 
conscience." I will give a premium to him who 
will tell me what " they," in the last sentence, 
refers to ? 

By trying the different suppositions, with a 

2 a 



354 



view to fix upon that which seems the least remote 
from sense, I suppose the qualities, which are 
the object of the delightful contemplation. These 
are the various forms of courage. His assertion, 
then, is, that the various forms of courage, being 
contemplated with delight, contribute to form 
conscience. 

But Sir James is always very niggard of his 
meaning. When he says, we contemplate courage 
with delight, does he mean courageous acts ? 
And do they become part of conscience ? The 
acts, and the moral approbation of them — are 
they the same ? If it be said for him, that he 
means the mental states which lead to courageous 
acts ; that is, the mental part of the acts ; we 
have only the same conclusion we had before, 
that the sentiments which precede the act, and 
the sentiments which follow it, are the same. In 
other words, moral approbation, in the case of 
courage, is courage. 

" By this resemblance." The point of resem- 
blance is, the being one of " the sentiments of 
which the dispositions and actions of voluntary 
agents are the direct and final object," But what 
is it which has this resemblance ? The delightful 
contemplation. Well, by this resemblance, you 
imagine, that the delightful contemplation becomes 
something. No such thing. The qualities, the 
things contemplated become. Because the con- 
templation of them is a sentiment which has a 



S55 



resemblance to the sentiments which have volun- 
tary acts for their end, they are associated with 
the other moral principles. 

This has not even the aspect of any thing but 
an abortion of a meaning. The sentiments 
which have voluntary acts for their end, we have 
had enough to do with already. Sir James 
seldom enables us to decide, whether by end he 
means cause or effect ; that is, whether the sen- 
timents he speaks of are prospective, or retro- 
spective. In fact, he did not make the distinc- 
tion. Butf any sentiment, all sentiments, " aver- 
sions, desires, emotions, sentiments," if they have 
but acts for their end, whether causes, or effect, 
are. Sir James assures us, conscience. The sen- 
timent retrospective is moral approbation. That 
we allow him to call conscience, though he 
should have told us something more about moral 
approbation, than that it has another name, con- 
science. The sentiments prospective may be all 
included under the name motive, as marking both 
the desire which precedes, and the volition which 
follows ; and then motive and moral approbation 
are the same. 

I trust it is not necessary to say any thing 
more about the glaring absurdity on which all 
this unmeaning talk has turned, that a sentiment, 
whether desire or motive, has an end, while 
nothing has an end but a man. When the man 
looks towards an act prospectively, the conse- 

2 A 2 



356 



quences of the act are his end. When he looks 
towards the act retrospectively, he approves or 
disapproves the act ; though there is an utter 
absurdity in saying that a past act is the end of a 
present sentiment. 

So much, to shew us how courage, which is the 
object of moral approbation, becomes an element 
of conscieuce, that is, the moral approbation of 
itself. 

Sir James in his 19th paragraph, undertakes 
to teach us all about the self-regarding virtues ; 
and a fine piece of teaching it is. I must request 
the reader to turn to the Appendix for this also. 

First of all, these virtues must be valued for 
their own sake. In other words, they must be 
their own end. A man performs an act of 
temperance, an act of prudence, not for the sake 
of the consequences, but for the sake of the act. 
In confirmation whereof, he tells us that Aristotle 
was of the same opinion. " It was excellently 
observed," he says, " by Aristotle, that a man is 
not commended as temperate, so long as it costs 
him efforts of self-denial to persevere in the 
practice of temperance, but only when he prefers 
that virtue for its own sake." But Sir James 
was poorly read in Aristotle. Aristotle is directly 
opposed to Sir James on this point; for 
Aristotle's opinion is, that actions are good and 
called virtuous, solely on account of their con- 
sequences. When Aristotle says, that as a man 



357 



is master of a foreign language, not when he can 
barely pick out words, to make himself under- 
stood by; but when he has by habit acquired the 
power of using the words readily, and as it were 
mechanically ; so, a man only merits the name of 
virtuous, when virtuous acting is so habitual to 
him, that he performs it in the way which 
Hartley calls secondarily automatic. Sir James 
imagines this is the same thing with saying, that 
the acts are their own ends. Oh, Reputation, 
Reputation ! what art thou, in a land where 
the well-born, and the ill-educated, have the 
making of thee ? 

Next, Sir James says, " It may reasonably be 
asked, why these useful qualities are morally 
approved, and how they become capable of being 
combined with those public and disinterested 
sentiments, which principally constitute con- 
science ? " That is to say, how they become, both 
the object of moral approbation, and also the 
moral approbation itself. 

The answer," he says, " is, because they are 
entirely conversant with volitions, and voluntary 
actions." This makes them both morality, and 
moral approbation. 

You stare, reader, and well you may. 
A quality entirely conversant with volitions 
and voluntary acts;" why, is not the walking 
quality, a quality of this sort, and the sitting 
quality, and the standing quality, and the eating 



358 



and drinkiijg qualities, and the speaking quality 
and the singing quality; aye, and the nonsense- 
philosophy quality? 

When Sir James says, that Prudence and 
Temperance are " entirely conversant with voli- 
titions and voluntary acts," it can be nothing 
more than the Sir Jamesical mode of telling us, 
that acts of Prudence, and acts of Temperance 
are voluntary acts. And then Sir James's pro- 
position is, that acts of temperance and acts of 
prudence are objects of moral approbation, 
because they are voluntary acts. Certainly they 
would not be objects of moral approbation, if 
they were not voluntary. Thus far all the world 
are of Sir James's mind. 

Sir James goes on : " Like those other prin- 
ciples " (that is, the other constituents of con- 
science, of which anger is one) " they" (that is, 
the self-regarding virtvies) " may be detached 
from what is personal and outward, and fixed on 
the dispositions and actions, which are the only 
means of promoting their ends." 

Of this the object seems to be, to maintain the 
disinterestedness of human nature ; that even 
when a man is acting for his own good, purely, 
he is not acting for it ; that in labouring for the 
support of himself and family, and in abstaining 
from every indulgence which may curtail his 
security against a period of inability to labour, 
he is doing all without a thought of him- 



359 



self. A writer who can make propositions in- 
volving absurdities like this, does deserve to be 
held up as a warning. " Dispositions and 
actions " of this sort need to be fixed on ; if not 
by prudence and temperance, at least by some- 
thing which may operate to their prevention. 

Prudence and temperance (which he calls 
" qualities" " useful qualities ") when detached 
from their consequences ; that is, the good which 
acts of prudence and temperance do ; are to be 
fixed on dispositions and actions. 

Fixing a quality on a disposition, — what is it 
we are to understand by that ? 

As a disposition is a quality, does it mean, 
fixing one quality on another ; making a union 
of two qualities ? But Sir James says, they are 
fixed both on dispositions and actions ; now, how 
a quality is to be fixed on an action, is more 
puzzling. The dispositions and actions, on which 
these qualities must be fixed, in order to entitle 
them to moral approbation, are the dispositions 
and actions, which are " the only means of pro- 
moting their ends." 

" Their," — does that mean prudence and tem- 
perance ? or does it mean the dispositions and 
actions on which they are fixed ? 

If the latter, what is affirmed is, that there are 
certain dispositions and actions, which are the 
only means of promoting their own ends. But 
this is true of all actions. Malevolent actions 



360 



(for actions include the dispositions) are the only 
means to the gratification of a malevolent purpose. 
In this sense, when Sir James says, that prudence 
and temperance must be fixed on such dispositions 
and actions as are the means of promoting their 
own ends, he says that prudence and temperance 
must be fixed on all actions. 

If " their " is to be construed with prudence 
and temperance as its antecedent, the meaning is, 
that they are to be fixed on themselves ; for it is 
not questionable that the only acts and disposi- 
tions which are the means to promote the ends of 
prudence and temperance, are acts of prudence 
and temperance, 

Accoi'ding to all preceding philosophers, the 
end of the self-regarding virtues, prudence, 
temperance, is the good of the individual, of him 
who practises them. Sir James says no ; the 
end of them is themselves. This he had told us 
before, and we had told him something of our 
mind about it. A thing may be an end ; but if 
so, it is the end of some thing different from 
itself. Pleasure is an end, and generically speak- 
ing, the only end. But it is precisely the same 
nonsense, to say that a pleasure is its own end, 
as to say that a pleasure is its own pleasure. In 
the same manner, to say that temperance is its 
own end, is to say that temperance is its own 
temperance ; which is only a very absurd way of 
saying that temperance is temperance. 



361 



To sum up. There are two reasons, why 
temperance and prudence are entitled to moral 
approbation. First, they consist of voluntary 
acts ; secondly, they are their own ends. They 
are good; why? Because they are good for 
themselves. 

This is what Sir James calls " the theory of 
action," in regard to prudence and temperance. 
We now proceed to what he calls the " theory of 
the sentiments." 

" All those sentiments, of which the final object 
is a state of the will, become thus intimately and 
inseparably blended ; and of that perfect state of 
solution the result is conscience'' 

By " state of the will," an absurd expression, 
he can only mean an act of willing, a volition. 
Well ; what are the sentiments whose object is an 
act of willing, or a volition? Motives, to be 
sure ; and all motives alike. 

What we now, therefore, learn from him is, 
that all motives become intimately and in- 
separably blended ; and of that perfect state of 
solution, conscience is the result : in other words, 
conscience is such a dissolving of motives, as is 
called by chemists, in relation to chemical matters, 
a solution. 

Reader, are you not well instructed in the 
nature of conscience now ? Is not your obliga- 
tion to Sir James of a high order? 

Peradventure, in behalf of Sir James, some one 



S6^ 



will say, he did not mean all " sentiments whose 
object is a state of the will," but those only 
whose object is a virtuous state of the will. 
Allow him this correction ; though he is not en- 
titled to it, for it is evident he knew nothing of 
his need of it : and let us see what can be made 
of it for his advantage. 

His meaning will then amount to this, that the 
motives to virtuous volitions, so blended as to 
form a solution, are what we call conscience. 

The only case in which there is any blending 
of motives, is when various motives to the per- 
formance of an act concur ; which is no doubt a 
very common case. But then a combination of 
motives to a particular act, is but a compound 
motive after all. 

Sir James's great discovery, therefore, is, that 
a motive is conscience, that the incitement to an 
act, and the moral approbation or disapprobation 
of it, are the same ; in other words, that every 
act to which we have an inclination, is thereby 
morally approved. 

It is true that Sir James has told us of emo- 
tions, desires, and affections, which have the will 
for their object. These, as we have already seen, 
must be either the prospective sentiments, mo- 
tives ; or the retrospective, which is moral appro- 
bation. The absurdity in the first case has just 
been shewn for the third or fourth time. The 
assertion on the latter supposition is, — that moral 



36s 

approbation is a number of affections towards 
actions, in some sort of combination. He finds 
work for his affections. He has already informed 
us, that they are the sole motives to a moral act, 
and also that they are the sole objects of moral 
approbation. He now informs us that they are 
moral approbation too. He concludes, therefore, 
with this sublime information, that moral appro- 
bation is the approbation of itself. 

Even this, however, does not go beyond the 
absurdity of calling moral approbation a solution 
of affections. Moral approbation is a judgment. 
Did Sir James know the difference between judg- 
ment and affection ? Upon my life, I am not 
sure. 

Sir James has not yet done with his discoveries. 
He says in his 20th paragraph, that he has looked 
at the coalition of the private and public feelings 
from two points of view, from which it has been 
looked at by very few except himself, perhaps by 
none. 

First, we have to inquire what he means by 
the coalition of the private and public feelings." 

Among all the wonderful things we have heard 
from him, we have not before heard of the coali- 
tion of the private and public feelings. 

Just before, he was shewing us, in his own 
extraordinary way, how certain private, and cer- 
tain public feelings, obtain the denomination of 
moral or virtuous ; that is, how they come to be 



364 



classed together, under a name, which expresses 
something they have in common. But classing 
things under a name, because they have some- 
thing in common, implies no coalition. We 
classed Sir James and Sir James's pig under one 
name, because they had a great deal in common ; 
but we did not by that mean to say that there 
was any coalition between them. I resist a strong 
temptation to a hurtful pleasure ; I expose my 
life, and sacrifice half my fortune, to save my 
friend. Both proceedings are most properly 
classed under the name of virtue ; but there is 
no coalition, either between the acts, or the states 
of mind which preceded them. 

Well, but what does Sir James mean by his 
looking at this coalition, which is no coalition, 
from two points of view ? He means, that the 
coalition does two things. Remarking, that a 
thing does two things, is looking at it from two 
points of view. Remarking, that my fire boils 
my eggs, and warms my fingers, is looking at it 
from two points of view. 

Of the two things done by this non-existing 
coalition, one is its helping to prove, that " the 
peculiar character of the moral sentiments con- 
sists in their exclusive reference to states of will." 
The nonsense of the position to be proved, has 
been already exposed. The aptitude of a non- 
entity to prove any thing, needs not to be insisted 
on. 



365 



This non-entity, however, goes on proving. 
It proves that " every feeling which has that 
quality," (viz., an exclusive reference to states of 
will,) " when it is purified from all admixture 
with different objects, becomes capable of being 
absorbed into conscience." 

This is rich. 

" Every feeling which has an exclusive refer- 
ence to a state of v.fill." States of will are three- 
fold ; good, bad, and indifferent. Every body 
knows, who knows anything about the matter, 
that no feeling has an exclusive reference to a 
state of will, but a motive. What, then. Sir 
James affirms is, that every motive to every act, 
good, bad, or indifferent, is capable of being 
absorbed into conscience, and becoming a part 
of it. 

Sir James has the qualifying clause — " when 
it is purified from all admixture with different 
objects." 

A motive can have but one object ; the volition 
by which it is followed. It cannot have admix- 
ture with different objects. It still appears, 
therefore, that all motives to all actions are parts 
of conscience ; of the fusion of which into one 
mass, conscience consists. 

The second point of view, from which Sir 
James looks at his coalition ; meaning, the second 
thing which it does ; is, its making us know, or at 
least know better than we did before, that virtue 



366 



is conducive to individual interest. Qualities 
useful to ourselves become virtues by the coalition 
of the private and public feelings ; and by this 
we know that virtue is conducive to individual 
happiness. Admirable instruction ! We learn in 
the same way, from justice, he says, that virtue 
is conducive to general interest. And then he 
goes on to tell us what a happy thing it is to 
know, that virtue is good for the individual. 
Recondite philosophy ! 

I was at first inclined, from mere weariness, to 
pass by paragraph 21 ; but I find there are things 
in it, which it will not be good to pass by. 

He first talks to us of the fusion into one mass 
of the elements of conscience, — says that it is a 
very perfect fusion ; he then tells us, that these 
elements are " passions ; " the elements by the 
fusion of which (" solution," he calls it) conscience 
is made, are the passions. Conscience is a solu- 
tion of passions. I put the doctrine into different 
expressions, that the reader may, to borrow Sir 
James's phraseology, " observe it from different 
points of view." 

Now, then, we are to learn what the thing is 
which he calls a " solution." It is an " affinity." 
And what is this " affinity ? " A " common pro- 
perty." The passions, then, which compose a 
compound conscience, compose it by their having 
" a common property." Reader, you are curious 
about the common property. And a curiosity 



,367 



you will find it. It is " their having no object 
but states of the will." 

No passion (properly so called) has for its 
object the state of the will. This is a fact which 
folly itself seems hardly in need to be told of. 

Besides, if one passion has for its object a state 
of the will, so have all passions. Is conscience 
composed of the bad passions as much as the 
good ? 

He finishes with a position which has nothing 
to do with his premises ; but which merits all 
our attention on its own account. He says, that 
the object of moral approbation is merely the 
power to excite moral approbation. In other 
words, the object of moral approbation is what- 
ever any man is pleased with ; an account of 
morality which we have had from Sir James 
before ; and which few men, we think, need our 
help to appreciate. 

Well, then. Sir James tells us, we approve that 
which makes us approve ; and that which we 
approve is, by that very circumstance, worthy of 
our approbation. 

If we are asked, why we approve such and such 
an action ? According to this doctrine there is 
but one answer : Because we approve it. A 
blessed account of moral approbation ! which yet 
Sir James affords us, after a much greater man, 
Dr. Brown. 

What these personages do not see (and such 



368 



confusion is really surprising in a man like 
Brown) is, that they are inverting the case. 
" We approve of actions," say all other men, 
" because there is something in them which de- 
serves our approbation." " Actions," say these 
two, deserve our approbation, because they re- 
ceive it." 

When a rational assertor of the principle of 
utility says, " I approve of an action, because it 
is good his meaning is precise. If he is asked 
why he calls the action good ; he says, " because 
it conduces to happiness." If asked why he 
bestows not his moral approbation on all actions 
conducive to happiness ? he answers, that " the 
approbation, called moral, which is merely the 
approbation of a portion of human actions 
classed under that name, is bestowed only where 
it is needed ; not on acts, the performance of 
which is provided for by the constitution of the 
individual, but on acts, the performance of 
which society needs, by the use of means, to 
secure ; of which means, its approbation is one of 
the most powerful." 

We now proceed to Sir James's 22nd para- 
graph. We cannot do less than quote it entire. 

" The question, why we do not morally ap- 
prove the useful qualities of actions which are 
altogether involuntary, may now be shortly and 
satisfactorily answered : because conscience is in 
perpetual contact, as it were, with all the dispo- 



369 



sitions and actions of voluntary agents, and is by 
that means indissohibly associated with them ex- 
clusively. It has a direct action on the will, and 
a constant mental contiguity to it. It has no 
such mental contiguity to involuntary changes. 
It has never, perhaps, been observed, that an 
operation of the conscience precedes all acts deli- 
berate enough to be in the highest sense volun- 
tary, and does so as much when it is defeated as 
when it prevails. In either case the association 
is repeated. It extends to the whole of the 
active man. All passions have a definite outward 
object to which they tend ; and a limited sphere 
within which they act. But conscience has no 
object but a state of will ; and as an act of will 
is the sole means of gratifying any passion, con- 
science is co-extensive with the whole man, and 
without encroachment, curbs or aids every feel- 
ing, even within the peculiar province of that 
feeling itself. As will is the universal means, 
conscience, which regards will, must be a imi- 
versal principle. As nothing is interposed be- 
tween conscience and the will, when the mind is 
in its healthy state, the dictate of conscience is 
followed by the determination of the will, with a 
promptitude and exactness, which very naturally 
is likened to the obedience of an inferior to the 
lawful commands of those whom he deems to be 
rightly placed over him. It therefore seems 
clear, that on the theory which has been 

2 B 



370 



attempted, moral approbation must be limited to 
voluntary operations, and conscience must be uni- 
versal, independent, and commanding." 

Why is moral approbation applied to volun- 
tary, not to involuntary acts ? That is the 
problem which Sir James has taken this won- 
derful round-about to solve. 

An ordinary man would not be much at a loss 
for an answer. What use, he would say, in 
approving the stones with which my house is 
built, or disapproving the fire by which it is con- 
sumed ? Approbation and disapprobation, like 
all other rational acts, are performed, where they 
are capable of producing some effect. 

Sir James goes much deeper. The reason, he 
says, is, that conscience is in perpetual contact, as 
it were, with all the dispositions and actions of vo- 
luntary agents ; " and afterwards, that " conscience is 
in a state of constant mental contiguity to the will." 
Does he mean that every man's conscience is in 
contact with all other men's actions and volitions? 
Or that each man's conscience is in contact only 
with his own ? In either case, what does his con- 
tact mean ? If I were called upon to devise 
something of a rational meaning to the phrase 
that " conscience is in a state of constant mental 
contiguity to the will," I should say, I can find 
only this ; that when I approve or disapprove 
actions as moral or immoral, that is, when my 
conscience acts, I so approve or disapprove only 



371 



voluntary acts. The answer of Sir James, there- 
fore, to the question, why moral approbation is 
applied to voluntary acts, is simply this, — it is so 
applied, because it is so applied. 

We have to analyse, as well as translate Sir 
James's lingo. 

" Conscience is in perpetual contact, as it were, 
with all the dispositions and actions of voluntary 
agents." 

" A contact, as it were," is not easily under- 
stood. Is it contact, or not contact ? 

" All the dispositions and actions of voluntary 
agents." One man has a disposition to walk, 
another to ride. One man shoots partridges, 
another catches rats. When Sir James says, that 
a man's conscience is in contact with his dispo- 
sition to ride, or his shooting a partridge, what 
does he mean ? Is it, that the man approves of 
his disposition and action as morally good ? The 
name moral, according to. the usage of language, 
belongs to neither. 

Let us now collect the parts of Sir James's 
account of conscience. It is a solution of the 
emotions, desires, and affections, which have 
the will for their object. Those desires which 
have the will for their object, that is, are 
desires of the will, and those affections which 
have the will for their object, that is, are 
affections for, or love of, the will, when combined 
in solution (for then they become conscience), are 

2! B 2! 



372 



in a state of contiguity to the will ; meaning (for 
it can mean nothing else), that they are desires 
and love of the will. We thus arrive at one of 
Sir James's customary conclusions. The desire of 
acts of will, and the love of acts of will, are the de- 
sire of acts of the will, and love of the acts of the 
will ; for we do not suppose that, for the present 
purpose, he will desire us to make any distinc- 
tion between an act of will and a voluntary act ; 
and these desires and loves are conscience. 

Sir James goes on, and says, — 

" It has never, perhaps, been observed, that an 
operation of the conscience precedes all acts deli- 
berate enough to be in the highest sense volun- 
tary, and does so as much when it is defeated as 
when it prevails." This, you see, is one of the 
discoveries which Sir James gives himself the 
credit of. But it is asserting as a fact that of 
which the assertion was, he said, " the radical 
error in which Mr. Bentham fell into fundamental 
errors." The operation of a man's conscience 
which precedes his act, is the consideration of its 
consequences ; that is, bringing the question of 
utility before his eyes. 

But this by the bye; our object at present is 
to trace the mazes of Sir James's lingo. To un- 
derstand what an operation of Sir James's con- 
science, " in a state of constant mental contiguity 
to the will," is, we must recollect what his con- 
science is. It is a solution of those desires and 



373 



affections, if any such there be, which are desires 
of acts of will and affections of acts of will. 
But the acts of desires and affections, whether 
in solution or not in solution, can be nothing 
but desiring and loving ; that is, nothing but 
the desires and affections themselves. Sir 
James's conscience, therefore, and an act of 
his conscience, are one and the same thing. 
When he tells us, that an operation of the con- 
science precedes every voluntary act, he must 
mean that a desire and love of the will so to act 
precedes the act. V¥e have shewed him, and I 
trust satisfactorily, that to desire a will, and love 
a will, is just to will. What we learn from him, 
therefore, thus painfully, is, that every voluntary 
act is preceded by an act of volition ; or, in other 
Avords, that every voluntary act, is a voluntary 
act. And then we have the problem solved, why 
conscience is limited to voluntary acts. It is, 
because voluntary acts are voluntary acts. 

Sir James, however, goes a step farther for 
this solution. The true and ultimate reason of 
the limitation of conscience to voluntary acts is, 
that it is " co-extensive with the whole man : " 
going somewhat beyond the voluntary act. 

He proves this proposition by the following 
process : " Conscience has no object but a state of 
the will ; " and " an act of will is the sole means 
of gratifying any passion." His premises do 
not support his conclusion. 



374 



If it were true, that conscience had no object 
but a state of the will, it follows not, that it 
would have every state of the will for an object : 
it might have only a part of those states. 

Again, if an act of will were the sole means of 
gratifying a passion, all the acts of men are not 
for the gratification of passions. 

Sir James, therefore, fails in his proof, that 
conscience is co-extensive with the whole man. 

And the proof that this co-extension implies 
the limitation of conscience to voluntary acts, 
which would have been somewhat difficult, he 
does not attempt at all. 

For the sake of such of my readers as are in 
the state of learners, I must state the case in the 
English tongue. 

The question is asked, why we morally ap- 
prove the generous deed of a man, do not so 
approve the pulsation of his heart, or the growth 
of his nails ? 

The answer is certain, says Sir James, though 
not easy to find. The approbation is in contact 
with the will ! 

Can it be believed, even after the fact, that a 
man who had the exercise of reason, wrote this ? 

When I approve the moral act of another man, 
the approbation is a state of my mind ; the will 
is a state of his. What contact or contiguity is 
there between these two ? 

There are two things which all other men dis- 



375 



tiijguish, with the greatest ease, hut which are 
continually making confusion in the head of Sir 
James. 

These are, the sentiments with which we 
regard the moral acts of other men ; and the 
sentiments with which we regard our own moral 
acts. 

The terms moral and immoral were applied by 
men, primarily, not to their own acts, but the 
acts of other men. Those acts, the effects of 
which they observed to be beneficial, they desired 
should be performed. To make them be per- 
formed, they, among other things they did, 
affixed to them marks of their applause ; they 
called them, good, moral, well-deserving ; and 
behaved accordingly. 

Such is the source of the moral approbation we 
bestow on the acts of other men. The source of 
that which we bestow on our own is twofold. 
First, every man's beneficial acts, like those of 
every other man, form part of that system of 
beneficial acting, in which he, in common with 
all other men, finds his account. Secondly, he 
strongly associates with his own beneficial acts, 
both that approbation of other men, which is of 
so much importance to him, and that approbation 
which he bestows on other men's beneficial acts. 

It is also easy to shew what takes place in the 
mind of a man, before he performs an act, which 
he morally approves or condemns. 



376 



What is called the approbation of an act not 
yet performed, is only the idea of future approba- 
tion : and it is not excited by the act itself ; it is 
excited by the idea of the act. The idea of 
approbation or disapprobation is excited by the 
idea of an act, because the approbation would be 
excited by the act itself. But what excites moral 
approbation or disapprobation of an act, is 
neither the act itself, nor the motive of the 
act; but the consequences of the act, good or 
evil, and their being within the intention of the 
agent. 

Let us put R case. A man with a starving 
wife and family is detected wiring a hare on my 
premises. What happens ? I call up the idea of 
sending him to prison. I call up the ideas of 
the consequences of that act, the misery of the 
helpless creatures whom his labour supported ; 
their agonizing feelings, their corporal wants, 
their hunger, cold, their destitution of hope, their 
despair. I call up the ideas of the man himself 
in jail ; the sinking of heart which attends incar- 
ceration ; the dreadful thought of his family 
deprived of his support ; his association with 
vicious characters ; the natural consequences, — his 
future profligacy, the consequent profligacy of 
his ill-fated children, and hence the permanent 
wretchedness and ruin of them all. I next have 
the idea of my own intending all these conse- 
quences. And only then am I in a condition to 



377 



perform, as Sir James says, the operation of 
conscience." I perform it. But in this case, it 
is, to use another of his expressions, " defeated." 
Notwithstanding the moral disapprobation, which 
the idea of such intended consequences excites in 
me, I perform the act. 

Here, at all events, any one may see, that 
conscience, and the motive of the act, are not the 
same, but opposed to one another. The motive 
of the act, is the pleasure of having hares ; not 
in itself a thing anywise bad. The only thing 
bad is the producing so much misery to others, 
for securing that pleasure to myself. 
• The state of the case, then, is manifest. The 
act of which I have the idea, has two sets of con- 
sequences ; one set pleasurable, another hurtful. 
I feel an aversion to produce the hurtful conse- 
quences. I feel a desire to produce the plea- 
surable. The one prevails over the other. And 
this is what Sir James calls the contact of the 
conscience and the will. This too, is that prece- 
dence of conscience, which he says is a discovery 
of his own. 

Bless the memory of Sir James ! Was he 
ignorant that this is included in the very defini- 
tion of a voluntary act ? Nothing in an act is 
voluntary but the consequences that are intended. 
The idea of good consequences intended, is the 
pleasurable feeling of moral approbation : the 
idea of bad consequences intended is the painful 



378 



feeling of moral disapprobation. The very term 
voluntary, therefore, applied to an act, which pro- 
duces good or evil consequences, expresses the an- 
tecedence of moral approbation or disapprobation. 

From the universality of conscience, he infers, 
not only that it is limited to voluntary acts, 
(limited by universality ! ) but that it is entitled 
to take the command, and exercise authority over 
the man. Between these premises and the conclu- 
sion there is no connection. Universality carries 
with it no title to authority. 

If Sir James had consulted me, I could have 
told him of a principle more exactly coextensive 
with the whole man than moral approbation and 
disapprobation. 

When any person takes a view of the conse- 
quences of his acts, and marks some of them as 
good, some evil, to other persons, he necessarily 
marks them all as good or evil to himself ; and 
as their goodness or badness with respect to 
others has an effect upon him as a motive, their 
goodness or badness with respect to himself can- 
not be without some influence. 

If Sir James had known of this principle, he 
surely would have said that self-love is the prin- 
ciple which is entitled to authority over the man ; 
and the reason is, that self-love is in constant 
contact with the will, and co-extensive with the 
whole man. 

Sir James says, '^when the mind is in its 



379 



healthy state," whatever that state may be, " there 
is nothing interposed between conscience and the 
will." Conscience, in this healthy state, there- 
fore, is motive. 

As conscience and motive are the same, Sir 
James says, " the dictate of conscience is followed 
by the determination of the will." Not always : 
all motives are liable to be opposed, and over- 
come by a stronger motive. ^Vhen Sir James's 
motive called conscience is so overcome, the deter- 
mination of the will cannot be called a follov/ing 
of conscience, but of something else. 

Ohe, 

Jam satis. 

There are two other paragraphs of Sir James's 
general remarks. But as they are immaterial to 
his theory, we gladly spare the reader and our- 
selves the trouble of expounding them. 

The business, which Sir James undertook, was 
to shew, that association accounts for moral appro- 
bation and disapprobation. 

This was to be done by performing the analysis 
of these sentiments ; tracing them to their simple 
elements ; making it appear how these elements 
combined or associated compose the sentiments, 
and how the phenomena correspond with this 
explanation. 

Of this Sir James has performed not a tittle. 
Instead of it, what has he done ? Covered some 



380 

pages with the most perfect nonsense that ever 
blotted paper. 

Having already presented a synoptical view of 
the original process, by which Sir James shewed 
us what moral approbation is in regard to bene- 
ficence, I think it good to present a similar view 
of the process by which he shews what it is, first 
in regard to courage, secondly, in regard to pru- 
dence and temperance. 



1. Courage is in itself admirable, independently 
of its tendency to produce good or evil. 

2. " The delightful contemplation of it, when 
purely applied, has for its direct and final object 
dispositions and actions of voluntary agents." 

3. Courage is thence " associated with the other 
moral principles ; and becomes a part of con- 
science." 

More briefly : — The delightful contemplation 
of courage, has for its object courage ; and cou- 
rage being thus contemplated, becomes a part of 
conscience. 



1. Virtuous acts of the self-regarding kind, to 
deserve moral approbation, must be their own 
ends ; alias, they are done for the sake of being 
done. 

2. The self-regarding virtues are entirely con- 



381 



versant with volitions and voluntary acts. And 
as the volitions and the V(>luntary acts in question 
are themselves the virtues in question ; this is as 
much as to say, the self-regarding virtues are 
entirely conversant with themselves ; in which, 
he adds, they resemble the other constituents of 
conscience. Remember that, just before, we had 
found the constituents of conscience to be motives. 
The self-regarding virtues, therefore, resemble 
motives in this, that they are entirely conversant 
with themselves. 

3. By this resemblance, they become fitted to 
coalesce with them ; that is, by being conversant 
entirely with themselves, they are fitted to coalesce 
with other things which are entirely conversant 
with themselves. Surprising aptitude ! 

4. The self-regarding virtues may be fixed on 
the means of promoting their ends. Their ends, 
according to Sir James, are themselves; they are 
therefore fixed on the means of promoting them- 
selves ; a volition fixed on the means of promot- 
ing itself ! 

5. From the perfect blending of all the senti- 
ments of which the final object is a state of the 
will, results conscience. 

Does this, after what we have seen, need any 
comment ? No. 

And thus. Reader, have you received Sir James's 
instructions in the mysteries of moral approba- 
tion. But whether it is an emotion, or a desire, 



SS2 



or an affection, or a motive, or a volition, one or 
other, or all, or a delightful contemplation, or an 
entire blending of the sentiments which regard 
the will, whatever those sentiments may be, 
which Sir James says not — he has left you in the 
dark ; and whether you are less or more wise 
about the matter, than when he began with you, 
determine and speak for yourself. 



APPENDIX A.— (See p. 95.) 



The moral sentiments are a class of feelings which 
have no other object hut the mental dispositio7is leading 
to voluntary actions^ and the voluntary actions which 
flow from those dispositions.'''' This Sir James sets down 
as his thesis, and marks for peculiar emphasis, by printing 
the words in Italics. 

The genus under which he arranges the moral senti- 
ments, is that of feelings. They are a class of feelings. 
Well, and what class ? 

Sir James tells us one thing about them ; viz. what is 
their object ; and nothing else whatsoever. It is — 

The mental dispositions leading to voluntary action, 
and the voluntary actions which flow from those dis- 
positions. 

First of all, we have to inquire, what it is for a feeling 
to have an object ? One can understand what is meant 
by the cause of a feeling, or the effect of a feeling. But 
what is the object of a feeling ? In the case of some 
feelings, we say that something is felt ; if we see, there 
is something seen ; love, there is something loved. In 
other cases the feeling itself is all : the feeling, (if we may 
use the expression), is the thing felt. Pain, for example, 
is a feeling ; but it is the only thing felt. 

In the cases in which we say that something else is 
felt, as when we say, in the case of admiration, that some- 
thing is admired, we call the thing felt the object of the 
feeling ; that is, we call the cause of the feeling by that 



384 



name. The thing seen is the cause of the seeing ; the 
thing admired is the cause of the admiration. 

In the case of those feelings which the Professors Reid 
and Stewart class under the title Appetite^ there is a 
complexity, which obstructs the conception. An uneasy 
sensation precedes the desire. Thus, what we call hunger 
is a complex feeling. It includes an uneasy sensation, 
and the desire of food. The mind therefore, in turn- 
ing to the cause of the desire, is apt to think of the 
uneasy sensation. But an uneasy sensation does not, in 
itself, imply the desire of any thing but relief ; the desire 
of a particular object is caused by the object itself. The 
desire of water when a man is thirsty, includes the idea of 
the water, and its agreeable eifect It is that idea which 
determines him to the water, i. e. constitutes (causes) the 
desire. 

The case is more clear as regards the complicated 
affections. What we call the object of the love, is the 
cause of the love. What we call the object of the pity, 
is the cause of the pity, and so on. 

If this be general, then Sir James's indistinct words 
must mean, that the moral sentiments are caused, or 
made to exist, by certain things. 

We shall not doubt that they are caused. Let us 
next see what they are caused by. 

The feelings of this class, he says, are caused by dispo- 
sitions, and actions. So far there is not much information. 
Every body knows, that certain of the feelings, excited by 
actions with the dispositions from which they proceed, 
are the very feelings to which the name moral sentiments 
is given. The proper expression therefore is — not that 
there is a class of feelings which have for their object 
actions rising out of dispositions ; but that such and such 
actions, rising out of such and such dispositions, excite 
such and such feelings ; to which feelings, as a class, the 
name moral sentiments has been given. 

Now then there are two things placed before Us ; cer- 



385 



tain things which cause certaiir feelings, and the feelings 
themselves which are thus caused. Our business, there- 
fore, is to ascertain correctly ; that is, to distinguish and 
define ; first, the class of causes ; secondly, the class of 
effects : in more particular terms, to what actions, flowing 
out of what dispositions, is the term moral applied ? and 
next, what are the feelings which these actions, when per- 
formed, are found to excite or to cause ? 

The solution of these two problems being the business 
of moral inquiry, let us see how Sir James goes to work, 
for satisfying the demand of philosophy in this respect. 

He sets forth the class of causes in these words : — " the 
mental dispositions leading to voluntary action, and the 
voluntary actions which flow from these dispositions." 

This is not very distinct. First of all ; the voluntary 
actions flowing out of the mental dispositions leading to 
voluntary action," are all voluntary actions whatsoever. 
Is that Sir Jameses meaning ? Are all voluntary actions, 
without exception, moral or immoral ? Next ; mental 
dispositions leading to voluntary action," is about as 
vague and undistinguishing a description as can well be 
made. No man with the least tincture of philosophy 
could have used such an expression on such an occasion ; 
his nature would have revolted at it. 

A mental disposition means some state of the mind ; 
the mental dispositions leading to voluntary actions, must 
mean every mental state which causes volition. Is every 
mental state, then, which causes volition, either moral or 
immoral ? Is this part of his theory, — that every volun- 
tary act, and every state of the mind causing it, excite 
the sentiments which he calls the moral sentiments ? 

Let us see what this doctrine amounts to. Sir James, 
proceeding to explain the moral sentiments, informs us, 
they are the sentiments excited by voluntary acts and 
the states of mind which cause them ; making the term 
voluntary, and moral or immoral, co-extensive. If so, 
this is merely telling us that the moral sentiments are the 

2c 



386 



sentiments which are excited by moral acts. In other 
words, the moral sentiments are the moral sentiments. 

It is surprising how great a quantity of the reasoning 
called profound terminates in this manner; making out, 
by a laborious, and frequently a very obscure process, 
that the same thing is the same thing. And then the 
formula Q. E. D. 

Sir J ames says, that " the mental dispositions leading 
to voluntary action, and the voluntary actions which flow 
from these dispositions,^' are the cause of the moral senti- 
ments. Does Sir James mean that the two things here 
mentioned, the dispositions, and the actions, are two 
separate causes, each of them producing a separate, and 
independent effect, the disposition producing one parcel af 
moral sentiments, the action another ? The structure of 
the sentence certainly implies this. The moral senti- 
ments have for their object (i.e. cause), the dispositions, 
and the actions. This is different from what all other 
men have thought. They say, that the action, separated 
from the disposition, excites no moral sentiment. The 
action abstracted from the state of mind, is a physical 
movement, which has no moral quality. It gets its moral 
quality from the disposition entirely. In fact, the moral 
quality is no where but in the mind of the agent. It is 
the mind of the agent which therefore is the sole cause of 
the moral feeling ; the mere physical movement has 
nothing to do with it, but as an instrument employed. 
But what is it in the mind of the agent, which gives it 
this causitiveness ? Sir James says, it is the mental 
dispositions leading to voluntary action."*' And this is all 
we get from him. First, are there any dispositions 
leading to involuntary action ? This, though a verbal 
criticism, is not insignificant. No man even half con- 
versant with these speculations would have committed 
this blunder. Next, in reply to the important question, 
what is it in the mind of the agent, which causes the 
feelings we call moral sentiments ; or what state of mind 



387 



in the agent is it, which has this power; — Sir James 
produces the " mental dispositions leading to voluntary 
action." Why, these are all the springs of action without 
exception. The appetites, the desires, the affections, good, 
bad, and indifferent, all lead to voluntary action. This 
is manifestly a man who speaks with the lip, but in 
whom "the lips'' are not " parcel of the mind." 

It is not the mental disposition leading to acts in 
general, but those leading to a particular class of acts, 
which excite our moral feelings. Why did not Sir 
James discriminate and expound that particular class of 
mental dispositions ? Had he done this — had he made 
us know exactly wherein that state of mind consists, 
which excites in us the feelings called moral, he would 
have answered one of the questions of which he had 
undertaken the solution. 

All Sir James's phrases seem to be studiously indeter- 
minate ; framed to bear the appearance of a meaning, of 
which in reality they are utterly destitute. 

Leading to." That means causation, of course. 
But there are causes, some proximate, some remote, and 
remote in all degrees. Does Sir James, by his " dispo- 
sitions leading to," mean the causes proximate ? or the 
causes remote ? or does he mean both ? 

" Voluntary actions." Does Sir James mean here to 
distinguish the volition from the act ? or to take them 
both together ? For example, I will to move my arm ; 
the volition : my arm moves ; the act. If he takes them 
separately, he means the dispositions which cause voli- 
tion. If he takes them together, he means the disposi- 
tions which cause volition, which causes the act. 

In either case he must mean the dispositions which 
cause volition ; i.e. the causes of volition. The causes 
of volition have been very carefully examined ; and Sir 
James, had he been half as great a reader as he pre- 
tended to be, might have told us a good deal that was 
useful, out of books. 

2c2 



388 



Sir James not having told us whether he means proxi- 
mate causes, or remote, compels us to go upon both 
suppositions. To begin with the proximate. These 
all inquirers are agreed about. Motives are the proxi- 
mate causes of volition. If then we suppose that Sir 
James's dispositions mean the proximate cause, when he 
says that the sentiments we call the moral sentiments 
are caused by these dispositions, he says they are caused 
by motives ; that which causes a moral sentiment is a 
motive of the agent. Nothing excites a moral sentiment, 
but a motive. Moral is a quality of motives. And 
every motive is moral, at least every motive which causes 
a volition, which causes an act. 

This comes back to the doctrine we have already 
noted ; that voluntary and moral are synonymous terms. 
And Sir James, moreover, seems to be ignorant that 
motives have no moral quality. In vulgar language a 
motive is called good or bad ; but in this vulgar language 
two things are confounded, will and intention. 

If we can get no information from Sir James, on the 
supposition, that by the cause of volition, he means the 
proximate cause, let us try him on the supposition, that 
he means the remote causes. 

Causes precede one another in a series. A is caused 
by B ; but B was caused by C, C by D, and so back- 
wards. Every cause is itself caused; that is to say, 
every cause is also an effect. In the series we have 
mentioned, B, C, D, &c., B is the proximate cause of A, 
C and D remote causes, and we may go on multiplying 
the remote causes to any extent ; they are in fact 
endless. 

To take the particular case before us. The proximate 
cause of the act is volition ; the proximate cause of voli- 
tion is the motive ; the proximate cause of the motive, is 
what ? 

Did Sir James ever ask himself what a motive is.^ 
There is no evidence in his book, that he ever did ; but 



389 



much evidence that he did not. Yet he talks about it as 
glibly as if it were all perfectly familiar to him. 

A motive is something which moves — moves to what ? 
To action. But all action as Aristotle says, (and all 
mankind agree with him) is for an end. Actions are 
essentially means. The question, then, is, what is the 
end of action ? Actions, taken in detail, have ends in 
detail. But actions, taken in classes, have ends which 
may be taken in classes. Thus the ends of the actions 
which are subservient to the pleasures of sense, are com- 
bined in a class, to which, in abstract, we give the name 
sensuality. The class of actions which tend to the 
increase of power, have a class of ends to which we give 
the name ambition, and so on. When we put all these 
classes together, and make a genus ; that is, actions in 
general; can we in like manner make a genus of the 
ends ; and name ends in general ? 

If we could find what the several classes of ends ; 
sensuality for example ; ambition ; avarice ; glory ; 
sociality, &c. ; have in common, we could. 

Now, they have certainly this in common, that they 
are all agreeable to the agent. A man acts for the sake 
of something agreeable to him, either proximately or 
remotely. But agreeable to, and pleasant to ; agreeable- 
ness, and pleasantness, are only different names for the 
same thing ; the pleasantness of a thing is the pleasure it 
gives. So that pleasure, in a general way, or speaking 
generically ; that is, in a way to include all the species of 
pleasiu-es, and also the abatement of pains ; is the end 
of action. 

A motive is that which moves to action. But that 
which moves to action is the end of the action, that 
which is sought by it ; that for the sake of which it is 
performed. Now that, generically speaking, is the plea- 
sure of the agent. Motive, then, taken generically, is 
pleasure. The pleasure may be in company or con- 
nection with things infinite in variety. But these are 



390 



the accessaries ; the essence, is the pleasure. Thus, in 
one case, the pleasure may be connected with the form, 
and other qualities of a particular woman ; in another, 
wiih a certain arrangement of colours in a picture ; in 
another, with the circumstances of some fellow-creature. 
But in all these cases, what is generical, that is, the 
essence, is the pleasure, or relief from pain. 

A motive, then, is the idea of a pleasure ; a particular 
motive, is the idea of a particular pleasure ; and these 
are infinite in variety. 

Another question is, in what circumstances does the 
idea of a pleasure become a motive ? For it is evident 
that it does not so in all. It is only necessary here to 
illustrate, not to resolve the question. First, the plea- 
sure must be regarded as attainable. No man wills an 
act, which he knows he cannot perform, or which he 
knows cannot effect the end. In the next place, the idea 
of the particular pleasure must be more present to the 
mind, than any other of equal potency. That which 
makes the idea of one pleasure more potent than 
another ; or that which makes one idea more present to 
the mind than another, is the proximate cause of the 
motive, and a remote cause of the volition. The cause 
of that superior potency, or of that presence to the mind, 
is a cause of the volition, still more remote, and so on. 

Now then, how much or how little of this does Sir 
James include in his phrase " mental dispositions leading 
to voluntary action ? " Sir James is silent. 

The motive he must include; that is, the idea of a 
pleasure, more potent than others, in the mind of the 
agent, either from the absence of others, or its own 
superior force. Does he include any thing more ? If 
so, it must be the idea of the cause of that superior 
potency. If more still — the cause of that cause, and 
so on. 

The idea of a pleasure, therefore, predominant from 
certain causes, with the cause of that predominancy, and 



391 



so on, are the dispositions leading to voluntary actions, 
which Sir James say?, excite, or produce, or cause, the 
moral sentiments. 

We may observe, incidentally, that in that case. Sir 
James's grand ambition, to prove that man has disin- 
terested motives (a contradiction in terms by the bye) is 
defeated by himself. 

Further, it is evident that these dispositions lead to all 
bad actions as well as to all good. Not to have seen 
this, does not argue Sir James a very clear-sighted phi- 
losopher. 

There must of necessity, ho^v^ever, be a difference in 
the causes to produce such a difference in the effects. 
Sir James did not advert to that necessity. 

If he had been questioned on the subject, he would 
have told us, in circuitous phrases, somewhat obscure, that 
the distinction, indeed, is most important, but by preceding 
philosophers, such as Paley and Bentham, had not been 
sufficiently observed ; when carefully examined, how- 
ever, it would be found to be this ; that of the mental 
dispositions leading to voluntary acts, some lead to acts 
of a laudable nature, others to acts of a censurable 
nature. This, at least, is an answer which seems in the 
true spirit of Sir James's philosophy. 

The case which Sir James has left us to make what 
we can of for ourselves is sufficiently clear, though it is 
not very easy to make the language about it clear, with- 
out a more lengthened exposition, than I am willing to 
bestow upon it. 

The dispositions which are the cause of good, and the 
dispositions which are the cause of evil, actions, have this in 
common, that they include the idea of a pleasure to the 
agent. 

If along with this they include the idea of good to 
some other person or persons, we call them, and the 
actions they produce, good. If along with the idea of a 
pleasure to the agent, they include the idea of evil to 



392 



another person or persons, they and the action are 
called evil. 

The mental state which precedes action is thus some- 
what complicated. It includes the idea of the pleasure 
to self ; it includes the idea of the action, or actions to be 
performed, and the idea of the several consequences 
which may flow from them. 

Thus, in the case of a sensual gratification, there is 
the idea of the gratification, the idea of the act or acts 
necessary to procure it, and some idea, more or less 
perfect, of the consequences, either to the agent himself, 
or to other persons. If the act is to be injurious to 
other persons, as in the case of adultery, seduction, or 
rape, we call the action bad, wicked ; if the evil con- 
sequences affect only the agent, we call it imprudent. 

In these cases, the evil consequences are sometimes 
seen; in others, they are not distinctly seen, or not 
capable of being distinctly seen. This makes a differ- 
ence in the degree of the aversion we feel. 

Thus, if the evil consequences to the agent are doubt- 
ful, we have less of the feeling which makes us ascribe 
to him imprudence. If the evil consequences to another 
party are doubtful, we have less of the feeling which 
imputes guilt to the agent. Thus, too much indulgence 
in the bodily pleasures is hurtful ; but it is so difficult to 
say, where the harmless ends, and the hurtful begins, 
that any moderate degree even of excess is very slightly 
blamed. 

Thus, again, if a man borrow money without any 
intention of repaying it, he is a dishonest man. If he 
borrows it, and embarks it in a speculation which fails ; 
his conduct, though not exempt from blame, is much less 
strongly blamed. 

Thus, however, it is obvious, that an action is stamped 
moral, or immoral, from the view of its consequences in 
the mind of the agent. 

When a man believes that such and such will be the con- 



393 



sequences of his act, and he performs the act, he is said to 
intend those consequences- When he believes that hurt 
will accrue to another from such or such an act, and he 
performs the act, he is said to intend the hurt. When he 
believes that hurt to himself will be the consequence, 
there would be some demur in saying, that he intended 
hurt to himself; but here intention is confounded with 
desire. A man cannot desire hurt to himself ; but when 
he performs an act with a perfect foresight that it will do 
harm to him, it cannot be said that he does not intend it; 
in the very same sense in which we say that the evil 
consequences to another, of which he has perfect fore- 
sight, are intended by him, though not the end of his 
action. 

Now, then, let us see what we have found for ourselves, 
without the help of Sir James. 

We have found that the mind of the agent alone is 
capable of virtue, or vice, alone excites in us the feehngs 
called moral sentiments ; that the state in which it is, 
immediately before acting, if it is of one or another kind, 
excites in us respectively the feeling called moral appro- 
bation, or that called moral disapprobation; that this 
peculiar state of mind includes the motives, together with 
the intention of good or evil, to the agent, or other per- 
son, or persons ; the sentiment less strong in the case of 
the good or evil to the agent, more strong in the case of 
the good or evil to other person or persons. 

Thus, then, we see, what there is in the logomachy 
(for it is nothing better) about the selfishness or disin- 
terestedness of human nature. There is, in the state of 
mind preceding every virtuous act (bating the classes of 
temperate and prudent acts, the direct end of which is the 
good of the agent), the idea of good to the agent, and 
also to others. There is no act, except for the sake of 
pleasure, or a cause of pleasure, to the agent, and there 
is no virtuous act, bating the classes mentioned, in which 
the good of others is not intended. 



394 



It is said, and said with truth, that the good of an- 
other may be the motive. The idea of a cause of plea- 
sure is as fit to make a motive, as a pleasure. If the 
good of another is a cause of pleasure to the agent, the 
idea of the good of another may be his motive ; as 
honour may be, or wealth, or power. Can any greater 
degree of social love be required, than that the good of 
others should cause us pleasure; in other words, that 
their good should be ours ? 

We have thus also found the answer to the first of 
Sir James"*s two ethical problems ; what is it in an action, 
which procures it the praise of moral ? One class of acts, 
the prudent and temperate, where the good of the indi- 
vidual is the motive, are the object of moral approbation, 
if clear of all evil consequences to others, foreseen, i.e. in- 
tended. Other acts are virtuous, if good to others is 
intended, though it be not the motive to the act. They 
are virtuous in a still higher degree, if good to others is 
also the motive. 

The idea, in the mind of the agent, of good to be 
obtained from his act, is then the sole foundation of the 
favourable feelings we call moral approbation ; it may be 
the idea of good to himself exclusively, if the prospect of 
evil to others is not conjoined; if the prospect of good to 
others is conjoined, though the motive be good to self, 
the act is still more virtuous ; it is treated as entitled to 
the greatest praise, when good to others is the motive, 
and the prospect of nothing but what is good to them is 
conjoined. 

This is what is meant by those who say that utility is 
the principle of virtue. It is the expression of a matter 
of fact. Useful is a name for the cause of good. The 
actions which cause good to mankind, that is, which are 
useful, alone receive the appellation of virtuous. 

But when we have found that good to mankind gives 
their moral quality to actions, one thing remains to be 
inquired; namely, wherein that good consists. This is 



395 



an important part of the investigation, but not necessary 
for our present purpose. 

Sir James, having told us that the mental dispositions 
leading to voluntary actions, and the voluntary actions, 
are the object or cause of the sentiments called moral, 
proceeds to what he intends to be the illustration, or 
perhaps proof, of his predication. 

Of these dispositions and actions he says, that there are 
some we like, some we dislike; and that we desire to 
cultivate the dispositions we like, perform the actions we 
like. 

This, if it has any meaning, means, that we desire to 
be virtuous. But what information is in this ? We 
desire to be wealthy, and powerful, perhaps learned. In 
Sir James's lingo, we desire to cultivate the dispositions, 
and perform the acts which lead to those ends. As- 
suredly, whenever we desire an end, we desire the means 
towards it. 

But to see what is the real import of his talk, we must 
go to the analysis we have made of what he calls the 
dispositions leading to voluntary acts. We have seen 
that the disposition, or state of mind which proximately 
causes a voluntary act, is the idea of the pleasure which 
is to be caused by the act. In the case of a moral act, 
the idea of good to the agent, or some other person, by 
means of the act, must be combined with the idea of the 
pleasure to the agent, the one idea called motive, the 
other intention. 

What therefore Sir James tells us is, that we love 
these two ideas ; and love the actions which follow from 
them ; that we desire to cultivate the ideas, and to per- 
form the actions. 

Now what is meant by cultivating an idea ? The idea, 
for example, of the sweetness of sugar, or bitterness of 
aloes Is it the taking means to have the idea very 
often present to our minds ? That is to be done by 
creating certain associations. The ideas which are in- 



396 



volved in what Sir James here calls the mental disposition 
leading to a moral act of the benevolent class, are two ; 
the idea of pleasure to the agent; and the idea of good to 
somebody, further accruing from the act. With regard 
to the first idea, it can never be absent from the mind, 
and is not an object either of liking or disliking, and has 
no need to be cultivated. With regard to the second, 
the idea of the further good, to the agent or others, the 
having that present to the mind, and predominant there, 
is no doubt an object of liking; but to tell us so, is only 
to tell us, in far-fetched and obscure terms, which explain 
nothing, what other men, who speak good English, ex- 
press, when they say that benevolence is an amiable dis- 
position of mind. 

But when Sir James tells us, in his own remarkable 
way, that we love the dispositions which lead to the good 
of the agent, and the good of others, not a very necessary 
piece of information, he still omits the question, why we 
do so. That is the real thing to be expounded. Sir 
James, however, has given us, instead of that exposition, 
nothing but a truism in misty phraseology. 

Sir James says, we not only like the dispositions, but 
we like the actions. What is there in an action to hke ? 
We have seen that the action is a mere muscular con- 
traction. The disposition which is the cause of the 
action may be an object of liking, and the consequences 
which follow from it may be an object of liking, and 
sometimes both are included under the name action, 
when the term liking or disliking may, without absurdity, 
be applied to it. But when a man pretends to speak 
philosophy, and, taking the action by itself, separated 
from its antecedent and its consequent, calls it an object 
of liking or disliking, he only shews himself ignorant of 
what he is talking about. 

Sir James says we not only love the act, but we desire 
to perform it. What difference, I wonder, did Sir James 
suppose there is between the desire to perform an act, 



397 



and the performing it ? I desire to move my arm. The 
arm moves. The effect follows the cause. The desire of 
the act, and the action, are antecedent and consequent, in 
a constant sequence ; and the term "performing an action" 
implies both. 

This may be said to be only a criticism on Sir J ames's 
language. It is so ; but it is something more ; it shews 
that Sir J ames could not speak like a man who knew any 
thing about his subject ; and it shews instructively to the 
learner in this science, what a writer comes to, who has 
lost the faculty of annexing ideas to his words. 

Thus much for Sir James's love of the dispositions 
which lead to voluntary actions, and of the actions 
which follow from those dispositions; and also for his 
desire to cultivate the dispositions, and his desire to 
perform ihe acts. He says we have that love, and 
that desire ; that is, we are capable of being moved 
to moral acts, and feel approbation of moral acts. But 
where was the use of expressing a common sentiment in 
most uncommon language, which obscures the matter of 
fact, and does not even attempt any thing towards the 
explanation of it ? Every man has in himself the experi- 
ence of the moral sentiments. Sir James was not wanted 
to tell us, either in plain or wonderful language, that we 
have them. But there are two things which he should 
have told us, and has not; what these sentiments are, 
and from what they proceed. He somewhere tells us, 
that they are a " secondary formation ; " but what that 
is, he has not attempted to shew. 

We now come to some more of Sir James's language. 
Where a man uses and presents to us words only, and 
not ideas, it is useless to object to verbal criticism. There 
is nothing else to be done. 

" These objects, like all those of human appetite or 
desire, are sought for their own sakes." 

The objects here referred to are " the dispositions and 
the actions, which we contemplate with satisfaction." Or, 



398 



perhaps, they are the cultivation of the dispositions, and 
the performing of the acts. He had said before, that 
these are desired, here he says " sought," which is pro- 
bably intended to mean the same thing. 

The desire to cultivate the dispositions leading to 
voluntary acts, and the desire to perform the actions, 
regard these objects as ends. 

These desires have no need of means for their gratifi- 
cation. 

To say that a desire has an object, unless by a figure 
of speech, is nonsense. A desire, detached from a man 
desiring, is nothing. A man desiring is said, for conve- 
nience of speaking, to have a desire ; and to have a desire 
to a particular object ; but this does not mean that there 
is a something called a desire, and that the desire has an 
object. There is nothing desiring, but a man ; the thing 
desired is the object of the man. It may be called the 
object of the desire ; but this is only a figurative expres- 
sion, used because it marks distinctly the particular affec- 
tion of the man which makes it his object. 

Now let us apply the direct and natural language to 
the subjects of Sir James's figurative discoursing. Let 
us say that a man desires to cultivate certain dispositions, 
desires to perform certain acts ; and that these objects, 
this cultivation, and this performance, are the man's ends. 

A man's end is to cultivate a disposition ; a man's end 
is to perform an act. 

This sounds oddly ; and would be rejected by every 
body at first hearing, but that it is ambiguous — true in 
one sense — untrue in another ; true in the sense in 
which it is of no use to Sir James — untrue in the sense 
in which Sir James endeavours to make use of it. 

There are two sorts of ends, which should have been 
distinguished in the mind of Sir James. These are 
immediate ends, and the ultimate end. 

The husbandman desires to plough a field. That is 
the object. Sir James would say, of the desire ; and the 



399 



object of a desire, is its end ; it is sought for its own sake. 
Of the husbandman, however, ploughing is not the ulti- 
mate end ; it is his immediate end; but he desires it only 
for another end, that he may sow seed in the field ; that 
also he desires for another end; that he may obtain a 
crop ; that for another end, that he may carry the crop 
to market ; that for another end, that he may obtain 
money for it ; and the money itself, for the command of 
all the good things which may be had for the money. 

Now when Sir James says, that to cultivate a disposi- 
tion is the end of the man who desires to cultivate it, the 
question is, whether it is his immediate, or his ultimate 
end. Sir James's mode of proving that it is his ultimate 
end, by saying it is the end of the desire, is nothing. 
The end of a desire, is that which a man desires ; but 
that which he desires, he may desire, not as an end, but 
as a means ; not as desirable for its own sake ; but 
desirable solely for the sake of something else. 

Now I affirm, as a proposition not doubtful, but cer- 
tain ; and of which to be ignorant, is to be unacquainted 
with even the elements of this kind of knowledge, that 
when a man desires to cultivate a disposition, or to per- 
form an act, he desires neither as his ultimate, but only 
as his immediate end ; as a means to something else. 

AVhat is a disposition ? A readiness to obey a certain 
class of motives. In other words, it is the means to a 
farther end. 

An act or action never is an end; it is always, and 
necessarily, a means to something else. 

Whatever, therefore. Sir James would build upon his 
notion, that the objects of his two desires are ultimate 
ends, falls to the ground. 

Sir James's other position is, that these desires need no 
means for their gratification. 

That which gratifies a desire to cultivate a disposition 
must necessarily be the attainment of the disposition. 
But the whole process of cultivation is only a series of 



400 



means to that end. So far the assertion of Sir James is 
unfounded. 

When he asserts, that the desire to perform an act 
needs no means to its gratification, the expression is 
ambiguous. Suppose I desire to take down a book from 
one of the top shelves in my library : must I not use 
means.? Must I not walk to the spot, and place the 
steps, ascend the steps, take hold of the book, descend 
the steps, and walk to my chair ? Talking in this way is 
very insignificant. 

If any one says, the desire meant by Sir James is not 
the desire of the last act of a train, but the desire of an 
immediate act ; as when I desire to move my arm, and 
the movement immediately follows ; he is to be told, 
that what Sir James calls here the desire of moving, is 
generally called the will to move. The will and the 
motion are cause and effect. But cause and effect is a 
name for an antecedent and a consequent immediately 
conjoined. This happens in the case of all acts, not 
moral acts only. It therefore gives no help to the 
explanation of moral phenomena. 

So far Sir James has made no progress whatsoever. 
He has either spoken what is clearly incorrect ; or he has 
spoken what is nugatory, and not to his purpose. 

In copying the sophistry of Butler, Sir James has 
misapplied it, and converted it into an absurdity. 

Butler says, our appetites have each its object, which 
is its end. Thus our appetite of food has food for its 
object, and so of the rest. This is true. But what does 
it mean ? Simply this, that our appetite of food is our 
appetite of food, our appetite of sex the appetite of sex, 
and so on. He says that these appetites are not self- 
love. And how does he prove it? Very easily: by 
changing the meaning of the term self-love. He says, 
self-love is regard to our happiness as a whole. Other 
people mean by it the pursuit of selfish gratifications. 
The man who, to the greatest degree, spends his life in 



401 



pursuing the gratifications of his appetites and desires, 
is according to them the most selfish man. In the 
language of Butler, he is not selfish at all. A man is 
not selfish, though he regards nothing but his own grati- 
fications ; he is only selfish, when he acts from a regard 
to his good upon the whole. 

Butler knew the import of words better than Sir James. 
Butler only says, that each appetite lias its own object, 
which it seeks as its end, and never goes beyond. He 
never says a man has the object of an appetite for his 
ultimate end. When the man desires food, his idea 
goes beyond the food, to the pleasure which the food will 
yield him. 

But when a man desires a pleasure, he desires it for 
himself ; which is a case of self-love ; and it is only by 
an abuse of words, that the name self-love can be denied 
to it. 

Sir James says, a man desires a disposition ; and 
because Butler said, that a desire has its own object, 
which is its end; so this desire has its own object, which is 
its end : therefore the man desires the disposition for 
its own sake. This is lame reasoning. Though an 
appetite may be personified into a sort of a living crea- 
ture, and said to have an object, which is its ultimate 
end ; it will not do to substitute man for appetite, and 
say that the same thing which had been called the end of 
the appetite, is the end of the man. The word appetite 
is a name given to the desire of a particular thing. The 
name is limited to that. But when a man desires a par- 
ticular thing, his thoughts are not so limited. His ideas 
may, and do go beyond the particular thing. When he 
desires food, the food is not his sole, and ultimate object 
He does not desire food solely for its own sake. He 
desires it for its consequences. 

When you say, therefore, that a man desires a disposi- 
tion, it does not follow, that he desires it for its own sake ; 
it may not be desired for its own sake at all, but solely 
for the sake of its consequences. 2 d 



40^ 



Besides this, what is meant by a man's desiring a 
disposition ? A desire is the idea of a pleasure, to be 
derived from something to be done, or to be had. What 
is a disposition ? Let us describe it ; first, in general 
language, next in particular. It is commonly called a 
tendency to act, or to think, in a certain way. It is, in 
short, a mental habit. But a mental habit has been 
fully explained by philosophers, and there is no question 
about the phenomenon. It is a train of ideas become 
fixed by repetition ; a train of ideas which call up one 
another in order, and with constancy. 

To say that the habitual associations which are the 
dispositions leading to moral acts, are desirable associa- 
tions, is only to say that they are agreeable. We know 
that. But why are they agreeable ? That is what we 
want to know. Are the elements of the pleasure the 
thoughts of other men's happiness or our own ? 

We must now look at some more of Sir James's 
phrases. Those objects, characterized by him as objects 
of desire, " like all those of human appetite or desire, 
are," &c. The most remarkable assertion involved in 
these words, is — that every thing which is desired by 
man, is desired for its own sake. The habit of going on 
with words, totally disjoined from ideas, must have 
been strong in this man to a degree of which the 
instances must be rare. Good God ! almost all the 
things desired by man are desired for the sake of some- 
thing else. You desire a horse for the sake of riding, a 
house for the sake of shelter, a fire for the sake of warmth, 
victuals for the sake of eating, clothes for the sake of 
wearing, a picture for the pleasure of seeing it, music 
for the pleasure of hearing it, a game of skill for the 
pleasure of playing, or the money which may be gained 
by it, a star and garter for the sake of shewing them. 

He says, the cultivation of the dispositions leading to 
voluntary action, is desired for its own sake. Why, this 
is a case directly proving the absurdity of his proposition. 



40S 



The cultivation of any thing is desirable only for the 
sake of the thing cultivated. 

But let him say, that he means the disposition. We 
have seen, that in the case of a virtuous act this implies 
two ideas ; the one called motive, the other intention. 
The motive is neither virtuous nor vicious. The inten- 
tion, in the case of acts affecting others, is the intention 
of good to some one. The great question in moral 
philosophy is, why is the intention of good to others 
desirable I answer that question, says Sir James. 
I affirm that it is desirable for its own sake. But philo^ 
sophy asks for reasons. Ij)se dixit it regards as a sign 
that reasons are not at hand. 

An intention desirable for its own sake — what shadow 
of a meaning can belong to this ? Why should one 
intention be more desirable than another — the intention 
of good to a man more than the intention of evil It is so, 
Sir James might say ; such is the fact. True : the fact 
is not disputed ; but the question still remains, how the 
fact is to be accounted for. Sir James gives us an 
affirmation for an exposition. He affirms that the prin- 
ciple of virtue is, like an instinct, inherent in human 
nature ; and incapable of farther analysis. This is easy 
philosophizing. And not more easy than unsatisfactory. 
It is the figment of a moral sense in disguise, which, like 
the taste of sweet and bitter, not only gives us the per- 
ception of good and evil, but gives us a relish for the 
one, and a disrelish for the other. 

We do not relish being put off with the assignment of 
an occult cause. We ask why moral acts are esteemed I 
The answer here is, because we are so made as to esteem 
them. Is this any thing more than a mere assertion of 
the fact, that we do esteem them ? But the assertion of 
a fact is not the explanation of it. And so fares it with 
the moral sense. 

Besides the desire of cultivating the dispositions which 
please us, we desire to perform the actions which please 

2d2 



404 



us. This is useful information ; as if it were possible to 
do otherwise. The very definition of a free agent is, that 
he acts as he pleases, 

A desire to perform an action is not separable from the 
performance. There is no performance without desire of 
performing. And there is no desire, without perform- 
ance. To say, you desire to perform, and do not, is a 
contradiction in terms It is to say you desire to per- 
form, but do not desire to perform. You cannot fail to 
perform but by not desiring to perform ; if the act is 
within your competence ; of which sort of acts exclusively 
we are at present speaking. 

This performing, then, which is in fact desiring to 
perform (desiring to lift the arm is in truth the act, the 
muscular contraction takes place we know not how), is 
desirable for its own sake. A desire is desirable. This 
is merely to say that a desire is a desire. A desire is 
what.-^ A pleasurable idea. A desire is desirable, is 
simply this — a pleasurable idea is pleasurable. Profound 
instruction. 

Go back to the desire of the dispositions we like. A 
desire is a pleasurable idea. The disposition we like is a 
series of pleasurable ideas. A desire of a series of plea- 
surable ideas, i. e. the pleasurable idea of a series of plea- 
surable ideas — does this say any thing more than that a 
pleasurable series is pleasurable ? But that is merely a 
statement of the fact ; and a bad way of stating the fact 
is not an explanation of it. 

Once more, then, Sir James's telling us, that the dis- 
positions we like, and the actions we like, are likeable 
for their own sakes, is telling us what he has given us no 
reason for believing. 

The next thing we are told by Sir James is, that " the 
gratification of these desires,'" (i.e. the desires of culti- 
vating the disposition, and performing the actions which 
we like), " requires the use of no means.""' 

Sir James is an obscure writer. It is not obvious what 



405 



he means by this assertion. To gratify the desire of 
food, means must be used to get the food. To gratify 
the desire of wealth, means must be used to get the 
wealth. To gratify the desire of wisdom, means must 
be used to acquire it. But to gratify the desire of cul- 
tivating a disposition, no means are to be used. Is the 
meaning this — that it is enough to desire the disposition, 
and immediately the disposition is formed ? Is the 
desire the immediate, and all-sufficient cause of the dis- 
position ? If so, the moment a man desires to have a 
good disposition, he has it. But this is not true. 
The acquiring a good disposition is a slow process, 
requiring great care and pains, that is, the use of many 
means. 

With regard to the desire of performing an action, if 
it be the simple, elementary action, the voluntary move- 
ment of some part of the body ; there are no means in 
this case, since the desire is the immediate cause of the 
movement. I desire to lift my arm. The arm rises : a 
fixed and immediate sequence. But what information 
is there in this ? It is the process known to all men, 
under the name of volition. Volition needs no means. 
Why.P Because it is itself the means; the sole, and 
all sufficient means. 

Let us see what follows. " Nothing (unless it be a 
volition) is interposed between the desire and the volun- 
tary act."" What does Sir James suppose a volition to 
be ? If it can be interposed between the desire and the 
act; Sir James contradicts his own doctrine, that the 
desire requires no means. The volition is a necessary 
medium or means. 

" Between the desire and the voluntary act." Is 
the desire of the cultivation of the disposition, the desire 
of the disposition ? or is it something else ? The culti- 
vation of the disposition is in reality the means for 
acquiring the disposition. The matter of fact then is, 



406 



that the disposition alone is the object of desire, not the 
cultivation, which would not be performed, but from the 
desire of the disposition. 

Sir James's denial of the need of means for the 
gratification of his two desires, is, therefore, with respect 
to one of them, false, the other, insignificant. 



APPENDIX B.— (See p. ^43.) 



1. Having thus again premised an already often repeated 
warning, it remains that we should offer a few^ observa- 
tions on the questions so understood, which naturally 
occur on the consideration of Dr. Brown's argument in 
support of the proposition, that moral approbation is not 
only in its mature state independent of and superior to 
any other principle of human nature, regarding which 
there is no dispute, but that its origin is altogether inex- 
plicable, and that its existence is an ultimate fact in 
mental science. Though these observations are imme- 
diately occasioned by the perusal of Brown, they are yet, 
in the main, of a general nature, and might have been 
made without reference to any particular writer. 

2. The term Suggestion^ which might be inoffensive in 
describing merely intellectual associations, becomes pecu- 
liarly unsuitable when it is applied to those combinations 
of thought with emotion, and to those unions of feeling, 
which compose the emotive nature of man. Its common 
sense of a sign recalling the thing signified, always em- 
broils the new sense vainly forced upon it. No one can 
help owning, that if it were consistently pursued, so as 
that we were to speak of suggesting a feeling or passion^ 
the language would be universally thought absurd. To 
suggest love or hatred is a mode of expression so mani- 
festly incongruous, that most readers would choose to 
understand it as suggesting reflections on the subject of 
these passages. Suggest would not be understood by 



40S 



any common reason as synonymous with revive or re^ 
kindle. Defects of the same sort may indeed be found 
in the parallel phrases of most if not all philosophers, and 
all of them proceed from the same source, — namely, the 
erroneous but prevalent notion, that the law of association 
produces only such a close union of a thought and a 
feeling, as gives one the power of reviving the other; 
instead of the truth, that it forms them into a new com- 
pound, in which the properties of the component parts 
are no longer discoverable, and which may itself become 
a substantive principle of human nature. They sup- 
posed the condition, produced by its power, to resemble 
that of material substances in a state of mechanical dif- 
fusion ; whereas in reality it may be better likened to a 
chemical combination of the same substances, from which 
a totally new product arises. The language involves a 
confusion of the question which relates to the origin of 
the principles of human activity, with the other and far 
more important question which relates to their nature ; 
and as soon as this distinction is hidden, the theorist is 
either betrayed into the selfish system by a desire of 
clearness and simplicity, or tempted to the needless mul- 
tiplication of ultimate facts by mistaken anxiety for what 
he supposes to be the guards of our social and moral 
nature. The defect is common to Brown with his pre- 
decessors, but in him less excusable ; for he saw the 
truth and recoiled from it. 

3. It is the main defect of the term association itself, 
that it does not, without long habit, convey the notion of 
a perfect union, but rather leads to that of a combination 
which may be dissolved, if not at pleasure, at least with 
the help of care and exertion ; which is utterly and dan- 
gerously false in the important eases where such unions 
are considered as constituting the most essential prin- 
ciples of human nature. Men can no more dissolve these 
unions than they can disuse their habit of judging of 
distance by the eye^ and often by the ear. But suggest 



409 



Hon implies, that what suggests is separate from what is 
suggested, and consequently negatives that unity in an 
active principle which the whole analogy of nature, as 
■well as our own direct consciousness, shews to be per- 
fectly compatible with its origin in composition. 

4. Large concessions are, in the first place, to be 
remarked, which must be stated, because they very much 
narrow the matter in dispute. Those who, before Brown, 
contended against beneficial tendency as the standard of 
morality, have either shut their eyes on the connection of 
virtue with general utility ; or carelessly and obscurely 
allowed, without further remark, a connection which is at 
least one of the most remarkable and important of ethical 
facts. He acts more boldly, and avowedly discusses 
" the relation of virtue to utility."" He was compelled 
by that discussion to make those concessions which so 
much abridge this controversy. " Utility and virtue are 
so related, that there is perhaps no action generally felt 
to be virtuous, which it would not be beneficial that all 
men in similar circumstances should imitate." * " In 
every case of benefit or injury willingly done, there arise 
certain emotions of moral approbation or disapproba- 
tion/' -|- " The intentional produce of evil, as pure evil, 
is always hated ; and that of good, as pure good, always 
loved.'" J All virtuous acts are thus admitted to be 
universally beneficial ; morality and the general benefit 
are acknowledged always to coincide. It is hard to say, 
then, why they should not be reciprocally tests of each 
other, though in a very different way ; — the virtuous 

* Lectures, vol. iv. p. 45. The unphilosophical word " perhaps " must 
be struck out of the proposition, unless the whole be considered as a mere 
conjecture. It limits no affirmation, but destroys it, by converting it into a 
guess. See the like concession, vol. iv. p. 33. with some words interlarded, 
which betray a sort of reluctance and fluctuation, indicative of the difficulty 
with which Brown struggled to withhold his assent from truths which he 
unreasonably dreaded. 

f Ibid. vol. iii. p. 567. t It-id. vol. iii. p. 621. 



410 



feelings, fitted as they are by immediate appearance, by 
quick and powerful action, being sufficient tests of 
morality in the moment of action, and for all practical 
purposes ; while the consideration of tendency to general 
happiness, a more obscure and slowly discoverable 
quality, should be applied in general reasoning, as a test 
of the sentiments and dispositions themselves. It has 
been thus employed, and no proof has been attempted, 
that it has ever deceived those who used it in the proper 
place. It has uniformly served to justify our moral con- 
stitution, and to show how reasonable it is for us to be 
guided in action by our higher feelings. At all events, it 
should be, but has not been considered, that from these 
concessions alone it follows, that beneficial tendency is at 
least one constant property of virtue. Is not this, in 
effect, an admission that beneficial tendency does dis- 
tinguish virtuous acts and dispositions from those which 
we call vicious ? If the criterion be incomplete or de- 
lusive, let its faults be specified, and let some other 
quality be pointed out, which, either singly or in combi- 
nation with beneficial tendency, may more perfectly indi- 
cate the distinction. 

5. But let us not be assailed by arguments which 
leave untouched its value as a test, and are in truth 
directed only against its fitness as an immediate incentive 
and guide to right action. To those who contend for its 
use in the latter character, it must be left to defend, if 
they can, so untenable a position. But all others must 
regard as pure sophistry the use of arguments against it 
as a test, which really shew nothing more than its acknow- 
ledged unfitness to be a motive. 

6. When voluntary benefit and voluntary injury are 
pointed out as the main, if not the sole objects of moral 
approbation and disapprobation, — when we are told truly, 
that the production of good, as good, is always loved, 
and that of evil, as such, always hated, — can we require 
a more clear, short, and unanswerable proof, that bene- 



411 



ficiai tendency is an essential quality of virtue? It is 
indeed an evidently necessary consequence of this state- 
ment, that if benevolence be amiable in itself^ our affec- 
tion for it must increase with its extent ; and that no man 
can be in a perfectly right state of mind, who, if he con- 
sider general happiness at all, is not ready to acknow- 
ledge that a good man must regard it as being in its own 
nature the most desirable of all objects, however the con- 
stitution and circumstances of human nature may render 
it unfit or impossible to pursue it directly as the object of 
life. It is at the same time apparent that no such man 
can consider any habitual disposition, clearly discerned 
to be in its whole result at variance with general happi- 
ness, as not unworthy of being cultivated, or as not fit to 
be rooted out. It is manifest that, if it were otherwise, 
he would cease to be benevolent. As soon as we conceive 
the sublime idea of a Being who not only foresees, but 
commands, all the consequences of the actions of all 
voluntary agents, this scheme of reasoning appears far 
more clear. In such a case if our moral sentiments re- 
main the same, they compel us to attribute his whole 
government of the world to benevolence. The conse- 
quence is as necessary as in any process of reason ; for 
if our moral nature be supposed, it will appear self- 
evident, that it is as much impossible for us to love and 
revere such a Being, if we ascribe to him a mixed or 
imperfect benevolence, as to believe the most positive 
contradiction in terms. Now, as religion consists in that 
love and reverence, it is evident that it cannot subsist 
without a belief in benevolence as the sole principle of 
divine government. It is nothing to tell us that this is 
not a process of reasoning, or, to speak more exactly, 
that the first propositions are assumed. The first proposi- 
tions in every discussion relating to intellectual operations 
must likewise be assumed. Conscience is not reason, but 
it is not less an essential part of human nature than 
reason. Principles which are essential to ail its opera- 



412 



tions are as much entitled to immediate and implicit 
assent, as those principles which stand in the same rela- 
tion to the reasoning faculties. The laws prescribed by 
a benevolent Being to his creatures must necessarily be 
founded on the principle of promoting their happiness. 
It would be singular indeed, if the proofs of the goodness 
of God, legible in every part of nature, should not, 
above all others, be most discoverable and conspicuous 
in the beneficial tendency of his moral laws. 

7. But we are asked, if tendency to general welfare be 
the standard of virtue, why is it not always present to 
the contemplation of every man who does or prefers a 
virtuous action ? Must not utility be in that case the 
felt essence of virtue?"* Why are other ends, besides 
general happiness, fit to be morally pursued ? 

8. These questions, which are all founded on that con- 
fusion of the theory of actions with the theory of senti- 
ments^ against which the reader was so early warned,-|* 
might be dismissed with no more than a reference to that 
distinction from the forgetfulness of which they have 
arisen. By those advocates of utility, indeed, who hold 
it to be a necessary part of their system, that some 
glimpse at least of tendency to personal or general well- 
being is an essential part of the motives which render an 
action virtuous, these questions cannot be satisfactorily 
answered. Against such they are arguments of irresistible 
force ; but aigainst the doctrine itself, rightly understood 
and justly bounded, they are altogether powerless. The 
reason why there may, and must be, many ends morally 
more fit to be pursued in practice than general happiness, 
is plainly to be found in the limited capacity of man. 
A perfectly good Being, who foresees and commands all 
the consequences of action, cannot indeed be conceived 
by us to have any other end in view than general well- 
being. Why evil exists under that perfect government, 

* Lectures, vol. iv. p 38. •\ See suj>ra, j^. 8 — 10. 



41 S 

is a question towards the solution of which the human 
understanding can scarcely advance a single step. But 
all who hold the evil to exist only for good, and own 
their inability to explain why or how, are perfectly 
exempt from any charge of inconsistency in their obedi- 
ence to the dictates of their moral nature. The measure 
of the faculties of man renders it absolutely necessary 
for him to have many other practical ends ; the pursuit 
of all of which is moral, when it actually tends to general 
happiness, though that last end never entered into the 
contemplation of the agent. It is impossible for us to 
calculate the effects of a single action, any more than 
the chances of a single life. But let it not be hastily 
concluded, that the calculation of consequences is im- 
possible in moral subjects. To calculate the general 
tendency of every sort of human action, is a possible, 
easy, and common operation. The general good effects 
of temperance, prudence, fortitude, justice, benevolence, 
gratitude, veracity, fidelity, — of the affections of kindred, 
and of love for our country, — are the subjects of calcula- 
tions which, taken as generalities, are absolutely un- 
erring. They are founded on a larger and firmer basis 
of more uniform experience, than any of those ordinary 
calculations which govern prudent men in the whole 
business of life. An appeal to these daily and familiar 
. transactions furnishes at once a decisive answer, both to 
those advocates of utility who represent the consideration 
of it as a necessary ingredient in virtuous motives, as 
well as moral approbation, and to those opponents who 
turn the unwarrantable inferences of unskilful advocates 
into proofs of the absurdity into which the doctrine leads. 

9. The cultivation of all the habitual sentiments from 
which the various classes of virtuous actions flow — the 
constant practice of such actions — the strict observance 
of rules in all that province of Ethics which can be sub- 
jected to rules — the watchful care of all the outworks of 
every part of duty, of that descending series of useful 



414 



habits which, being securities to virtue, become them- 
selves virtues, — are so many ends which it is absolutely 
necessary for man to pursue and to seek for their own 
sake. 

10. I saw D'Alembert,"''' says a very late writer, 
congratulate a young man very coldly, who brought 
him a solution of a problem. The young man said, * I 
have done this in order to have a seat in the Academy.** 
' Sir,' answered D'Alembert, ' with such dispositions you 
never will earn one. Science must be loved for its own 
sake, and not for the advantage to be derived. No other 
principle will enable a man to make progress in the 
sciences.' " * It is singular that D'Alembert should not 
perceive the extensive application of this truth to the 
whole nature of man. No man can make progress in a 
virtue who does not seek it for its own sake. No man is 
a friend, a lover of his country, a kind father, a dutiful 
son, who does not consider the cultivation of affection 
and the performance of duty in all these cases re^ 
spectively as incumbent on him for their own sake, and 
not for the advantage to be derived from them. Who- 
ever serves another with a view of advantage to himself 
is universally acknowledged not to act from affection. 
But the more immediate application of this truth to our 
purpose is, that in the case of those virtues which are the 
means of cultivating and preserving other virtues, it is 
necessary to acquire love and reverence for the secondary 
virtues for their own sake, without which they never will 
be effectual means of sheltering and strengthening those 
intrinsically higher qualities to which they are appointed 
to minister. Every moral act must be considered as aii 
end, and men must banish from their practice the regard 
to the most naturally subordinate duty as a means; 
Those who are perplexed by the supposition that se- 
condary virtues, making up by the extent of their bene- 

• Memoires de Montlosier, vol. i. p. 50. 



415 



ficial tendency for what in each particular instance they 
may want in magnitude^ may become of as great im- 
portance as the primary virtues themselves, would do 
well to consider a parallel though very homely case. A 
house is useful for many purposes : many of these pur- 
poses are in themselves, for the time, more important 
than shelter. The destruction of the house may, never- 
theless become a greater evil than the defeat of several 
of these purposes, because it is permanently convenient, 
and indeed necessary to the execution of most of them. 
A floor is made for warmth, for dryness — to support 
tables, chairs, beds, and all the household implements 
which contribute to accommodation and to pleasure. 
The floor is valuable only as a means ; but, as the only 
means by which many ends are attained, it may be much 
more valuable than some of them. The table might be^ 
and generally is, of more valuable timber than the floor ; 
but the workmen who should for that reason take more 
pains in making the table strong than the floor secure, 
would not long be employed by customers of common 
sense. The connection of that part of morality which 
regulates the intercourse of the sexes with benevolence, 
affords the most striking instance of the very great im- 
portance which may belong to a virtue, in itself 
secondary, but on which the general cultivation of the 
highest virtues permanently depends. Delicacy and 
modesty may be thought chiefly worthy of cultivation, 
because they guard purity; but they must be loved for 
their own sake, without which they cannot flourish. 
Purity is the sole school of domestic fidelity, and domestic 
fidelity is the only nursery of the affections between 
parents and children, from children towards each other, 
and, through these affections, of all the kindness which 
renders the world habitable. At each step in the pro- 
gress, the appropriate end must be loved for its own 
sake ; and it is easy to see how the only means of sowing 
the seeds of benevolence, in all its forms, may become of 



416 



far greater importance than many of the modifications! 
and exertions even of benevolence itself. To those who 
will consider this subject, it will not long seem strange 
that the sweetest and most gentle affections grow up only 
under the apparently cold and dark shadow of stern 
duty. The obligation is strengthened, not weakened, 
by the consideration that it arises from human imperfec- 
tion ; which only proves it to be founded on the nature 
of man. It is enough that the pursuit of all these 
separate ends leads to general well-being, the promotion 
of which is the final purpose of the creation. 

11. The last and most specious argument against 
beneficial tendency, even as a test, is conveyed in the 
question, why moral approbation is not bestowed on every 
thing beneficial, instead of being confined, as it con- 
fessedly is, to voluntary acts. It may plausibly be said, 
that the establishment of the beneficial tendency of all 
those voluntary acts which are the objects of moral appro- 
bation is not sufficient, since, if such tendency be the 
standard, it ought to follow, that whatever is useful 
should also be morally approved. To answer, as has 
before been done,* that experience gradually limits 
moral approbation and disapprobation to voluntary acts, 
by teaching us that they influence the will, but are wholly 
wasted if they be applied to any other object, — though 
the fact be true, and contributes somewhat to the result, 
is certainly not enough. It is at best a partial solution. 
Perhaps, on reconsideration, it is entitled only to a 
secondary place. To seek a foundation for universal, 
ardent, early, and immediate feelings, in processes of an 
intellectual nature, has, since the origin of philosophy* 
been th^ grand error of ethical inquirers into human 
nature. To seek for such a foundation in association, an 
early and insensible process, which confessedly mingles 
itself with the composition of our first and simplest 



* See supra, p. 99, 100. 



417 



feelings, and which is common to both parts of our nature, 
is not liable to the same animadversion. If conscience be 
uniformly produced by the regular and harmonious co- 
operation of many processes of association, the objection 
is m reality a challenge to produce a complete theory of 
it, founded on that principle, by exhibiting such a full 
account of all these processes as may satisfactorily explain 
why it proceeds thus far and no farther. This would be 
a very arduous attempt, and perhaps it may be premature. 
But something may be more modestly tried towards an 
outline^ which, though it might leave many particulars 
unexplained, may justify a reasonable expectation that 
they are not incapable of explanation ; and may even 
now assign such reasons for the limitation of approbation 
to voluntary acts, as may convert the objection derived 
from that fact into a corroboration of the doctrines to 
which it has been opposed as an insurmountable diffi- 
culty. Such an attempt will naturally lead to the close 
of the present Dissertation. The attempt has indeed 
been already made,* but not without great apprehensions 
on the part of the author that he has not been clear 
enough, especially in those parts which appeared to him- 
self to owe most to his own reflection. He will now 
endeavour, at the expense of some repetition, to be more 
satisfactory. 

12. There must be primary pleasures, pains, and even 
appetites, which arise from no prior state of mind, and 
which, if explained at all, can be derived only from bodily 
organization ; for if there were not, there could be no 
secondary desires. What the number of the underived 
principles may be, is a question to which the answers of 
philosophers have been extremely various, and of which 
the consideration is not necessary to our present purpose. 
The rules of philosophizing, however, require that causes 
should not be multiphed without necessity. Of two 



• See supra, p. 82-84, 113-118. 



418 



explanations, therefore, which give an equally satisfactory 
account of appearances, that theory is manifestly to be 
preferred which supposes the smaller number of ultimate 
and inexplicable principles. This maxim, it is true, is 
subject to three indispensable conditions. 1. That the 
principles employed in the explanation should be known 
really to exist: in which consists the main distinction 
between hypothesis and theory. Gravity is a principle 
universally known to exist ; ether and a nervous fluid are 
mere suppositions. 2. That these principles should be 
known to produce effects like those which are ascribed to 
them in the theory. This is a further distinction between 
hypothesis and theory ; for there are an infinite number 
of degrees of likeness^ from the faint resemblances which 
have led some to fancy that the functions of the nerves 
depend on electricity, to the remarkable coincidences 
between the appearances of projectiles on earth, and the 
movements of the heavenly bodies, which constitutes the 
Newtonian system ; a theory now perfect, though exclu- 
sively founded on analogy, and in which one of the classes 
of phenomena brought together by it is not the subject 
of direct experience. 3. That it should correspond, if 
not with all the facts to be explained, at least with so 
great a majority of them as to render it highly probable 
that means will in time be found of reconciling it to alL 
It is only on this ground that the Newtonian system 
justly claimed the title of a legitimate theory during that 
long period when it was unable to explain many celestial 
appearances, before the labours of a century, and the 
genius of Laplace, at length completed the theory, by 
adapting it to all the phenomena. A theory may be just 
before it is complete. 

13. In the application of these canons to the theory 
which derives most of the principles of human action 
from the transfer of a small number of pleasures, perhaps 
organic, by the law of association to a vast variety of new 
objects, it cannot be denied, 1st. That it satisfies the 



419 



first of the above conditions, inasmucli as association is 
really one of the laws of human nature ;. 2dly. That it 
also satisfies the second, for association certainly produces 
effects like those which are referred to it by this theory, 
otherwise there would be no secondary desires, no acquired 
relishes and dislikes; — facts universally acknowledged, 
which are and can be explained only by the principle 
called by Hobbes mental discourse ; — by Locke, Hume, 
Hartley, Condillac, and the majority of speculators, as 
well as in common speech, association; — by Tucker, 
translation ; — and by Brown, suggestion. The facts 
generally referred to the principle resemble those which 
are claimed for it by the theory in this important par- 
ticular, that in both cases equally, pleasure becomes 
attached to perfectly new things, so that the derivative 
desires become perfectly independent on the primary. The 
great dissimilarity of these two classes of passions has been 
supposed to consist in this, that the former always regards 
the mterests of the individual, while the latter regards the 
welfare of others. The philosophical world has been 
almost entirely divided into two sects ; the partisans of 
selfishness, comprising mostly all the predecessors of 
Butler, and the greater part of his successors ; and the 
advocates of benevolence, who have generally contended 
that the reality of disinterestedness depends on its being 
a primary principle. Enough has been said by Butler 
against the more fatal heresy of selfishness. Something- 
has already been said against the error of the advocates 
of disinterestedness, in the progress of this attempt to 
develope ethical truths historically, in the order in which 
inquiry and controversy brought them out with increasing 
brightness. The analogy of the material world is indeed 
faint, and often delusive ; yet we dare not utterly reject 
that on which the whole technical language of mental 
and moral science is necessarily grounded. The whole 
creation teems with instances where the most powerful 
agents and the most lasting bodies are the acknowledged 



420 



results of the composition, sometimes of a few, often of 
many elements. These compounds often in their turn 
become the elements of other substances ; and it is with 
them that we are conversant chiefly in the pursuits of 
knowledge, solely in the concerns of life. No man ever 
fancied, that because they were compounds, they were 
therefore less real. It is impossible to confound them 
with any of the separate elements which contribute 
towards their formation. But a much more close resem- 
blance presents itself. Every secondary desire, or 
acquired relish, involves in it a transfer of pleasure to 
something which was before indifferent or disagreeable. 
Is the new pleasure the less real for being acquired ? Is 
it not often preferred to the original enjoyment ? Are 
not many of these secondary pleasures indestructible ? 
Do not many of them survive primary appetites ? Lastly, 
the important principle of regard to our own general 
welfare, which disposes us to prefer it to immediate plea- 
sure, unfortunately called self-love (as if, in any intelli- 
gible sense of the term love^ it were possible for a man to 
love himself), is perfectly intelligible if its origin be 
ascribed to association, but utterly incomprehensible if it 
be considered as prior to the appetites and desires, which 
alone furnish it with materials. As happiness consists of 
satisfactions, self-love presupposes appetites and desires 
which are to be satisfied. If the order of time were 
important, the affections are formed at an earlier period 
than many self-regarding passions, and they always pre- 
cede the formation of self-love. 

14. Many of the later advocates of the disinterested 
system, though recoiling from an apparent approach to 
the selfishness into which the purest of their antagonists 
had occasionally fallen, were gradually obliged to make 
concessions to the derivative system, though clogged with 
the contradictory assertion, that it was only a refinement 
of selfishness : and we have seen that Brown, the last and 
not the least in genius of them, has nearly abandoned the 



mi 

greater, though not indeed the most important part of the 
territory in dispute, and scarcely contends for any unde- 
rived principle but the moral faculty. 

15. In this state of opinion among the very small 
number in Great Britain who still preserve some remains 
of a taste for such speculations, it is needless here to trace 
the application of the law of association to the formation 
of the secondary desires, whether private or social. For 
our present purposes, the explanation of their origin may 
be assumed to be satisfactory. In what follows, it must, 
however, be steadily borne in mind, that this concession 
involves an admission that the pleasure derived from low 
objects may be transferred to the most pure ; that fr®m a 
part of a self- regarding appetite such a pleasure may 
become a portion of a perfectly disinterested desire ; and 
that the disinterested nature and absolute independence 
of the latter are not in the slightest degree impaired by 
the consideration, that it is formed by one of those grand 
mental processes to which the formation of the other 
habitual states of the human mind have been, with great 
probability, ascribed. 

16. — 1. When the social affections are thus formed, they 
are naturally followed in every instance by the will to do 
whatever can promote their object. 2. Compassion 
excites a voluntary determination to do whatever relieves 
the person pitied. 3. The like process must occur in 
every case of gratitude, generosity, and affection. 4. No- 
thing so uniformly follows the kind disposition as the act 
of will, because it is the only means by which the bene- 
volent desire can be gratified. 5. The result of what 
Brown justly calls " a finer analysis," shews a mental 
contiguity of the afifection to the volition to be much 
closer than appears on a coarser examination of this part 
of our nature. 6. No wonder, then, that the strongest 
association, the most active power of reciprocal suggestion, 
should subsist between them. 7- all the affections 
are delightful, so the volitions, voluntary acts which are 



the only means of their gratification, become agreeable 
objects of contemplation of the mind. 8. The habitual 
disposition to perform them is felt in ourselves, and 
observed in others, with satisfaction. 9- As these feel- 
ings become more lively, the absence of them may be 
viewed in ourselves with a pain, in others with an aliena- 
tion capable of indefinite increase. 10. They become 
entirely independent sentiments ; still, however, receiving 
constant supphes of nourishment from their parent 
affections, which, in well-balanced minds, reciprocally 
strengthen each other ; unlike the unkind passions, which 
are constantly engaged in the most angry conflicts of 
civil war. 11. In this state we desire to experience these 
beneficent volitions^ to cultivate a disposition towards 
them, and to do every correspondent voluntary act. 

12. They are for their own sake the objects of desire. 

13. They thus constitute a large portion of those emo- 
tions, desires, and affections, which regard certain dis- 
positions of the mind and determinations of the will as 
their sole and ultimate end. 14. These are what are 
called the moral sense, the moral sentiments, or best, 
though most simply, by the ancient name of Conscience ; 
which has the merit, in our language, of being applied to 
no other purpose, which peculiarly marks the strong 
working of these feelings on conduct, and which, from its 
solemn and sacred character, is well adapted to denote 
the venerable authority of the highest principle of human 
nature. 

17. Nor is this all. It has already been seen that not 
only sympathy with the sufferer, but indignation against 
the wrong-doer, contributes a large and important share 
towards the moral feehngs. We are angry at those who 
disappoint our wish for the happiness of others. We 
make the resentment of the innocent person wronged our 
own. Our moderate anger approves all well-proportioned 
punishment of the wrong-doer. We hence approve those 
dispositions and actions of voluntary agents which pro- 



423 



mote such suitable punishment, and disapprove those 
which hinder its infliction or destroy its effect; at the 
head of which may be placed that excess of punishment 
beyond the average feehngs of good men which turns the 
indignation of the calm by-stander against the culprit 
into pity. In this state, when anger is duly moderated, — 
when it is proportioned to the wrong, — when it is detached 
from personal considerations, — when dispositions and 
actions are its ultimate objects^ — it becomes a sense of 
justice, and is so purified as to be fitted to be a new ele- 
ment of conscience. There is no part of morality which 
is so directly aided by a conviction of the necessity of 
its observance to the general interest, as justice. The 
connection between them is discoverable by the most 
common understanding. All public deliberations profess 
the public welfare to be their object ; all laws propose it 
as their end. This calm principle of public utility serves 
to mediate between the sometimes repugnant feelings 
which arise in the punishment of criminals, by repressing 
undue pity on one hand, and reducing resentment to its 
proper level on the other. Hence the unspeakable im- 
portance of criminal laws as a part of the moral education 
of mankind. Whenever they carefully conform to the 
moral sentiments of the age and country, — when they 
are withheld from approaching the limits within which 
the disapprobation of good men would confine punish- 
ment, they contribute in the highest degree to increase 
the ignominy of crimes, to make men recoil from the 
first suggestions of criminality, and to nourish and mature 
the sense of justice, which lends new vigour to the con- 
science with which it has been united. 

18. Other contributary streams present themselves. 
Qualities which are necessary to virtue, but may be sub- 
servient to vice, may, independently of that excellence or 
of that defect, be in themselves admirable. Courage, 
energy, decision, are of this nature. In their wild state 
they are often savage and destructive. When they are 



424 



tamed by the society of the affections, and trained up in 
obedience to the moral faculty, they become virtues of 
the highest order, and, by their name of magnanimity^ 
proclaim the general sense of mankind that they are the 
characteristic qualities of a great soul. They retain 
whatever was admirable in their unreclaimed state, toge- 
ther with all that they borrow from their new associate 
and their high ruler. Their nature, it must be owned, 
is prone to evil; but this propensity does not hinder 
them from being rendered capable of being ministers of 
good, in a state where the gentler virtues require to be 
vigorously guarded against the attacks of daring de- 
pravity. It is thus that the strength of the well- 
educated elephant is sometimes employed in vanquishing 
the fierceness of the tiger, and sometimes used as a means 
of defence against the shock of his brethren of the same 
species. The delightful contemplation, however, of these 
qualities, when purely applied, becomes one of the senti- 
ments of which the dispositions and actions of voluntary 
agents are the direct and final object. By this resem- 
blance they are associated with the other moral principles, 
and with them contribute to form Conscience, which, as 
the master faculty of the soul, levies such large contri- 
butions on every province of human nature. 

19. It is important, in this point of view, to consider 
also the moral approbation which is undoubtedly bestowed 
on those dispositions and actions of voluntary agents 
which terminate in their own satisfaction, security, and 
well-being. They have been called duties to ourselves, 
as absurdly as a regard to our own greatest happiness is 
called self-love. But it cannot be reasonably doubted, 
that intemperance, improvidence, timidity, even when 
considered only in relation to the individual, are not only 
regretted as imprudent, but blamed as morally wrong. 
It was excellently observed by Aristotle, that a man is 
not commended as temperate, so long as it costs him 
efforts of self-denial to persevere in the practice of tem- 



m5 

perance, but only when he prefers that mrtue for its 
own sake. He is not meek, nor brave, as long as the 
most vigorous self-command is necessary to bridle his 
anger or his fear. On the same principle, he may be 
judicious or prudent; but he is not benevolent if he 
confers benefits with a view to his own greatest happiness. 
In like manner, it is ascertained by experience, that all 
the masters of science and of art — that all those who have 
successfully pursued truth and knowledge — ^love them 
for their own sake, without regard to the generally ima- 
ginary dower of interest, or even to the dazzling crown 
which fame may place on their heads.* But it may still 
be reasonably asked, why these useful qualities are 
morally improved, and how they become capable of being 
combined with those public and disinterested sentiments 
which principally constitute conscience ? The answer is, 
because they are entirely conversant with volitions and 
voluntary actions, and in that respect resemble the other 
constituents of conscience, with which they are thereby 
fitted to mingle and coalesce. Like those other prin- 
ciples, they may be detached from what is personal and 
outward, and fixed on the dispositions and actions, which 
are the only means of promoting their ends. The sequence 
of these principles and acts of will becomes so frequent, 
that the association between both may be as firm as in 
the former cases. All those sentiments of which the 
final object is a state of the will, become thus intimately 

* See the Pursuit of Knowledge tinder Difficulties^ a discourse forming 
the first part of the third volume of the Library of Entertaining Know- 
ledge, London, 1829. The author of this Essay, for it can be no other 
than Mr. Brougham, will by others be placed at the head of those who, 
in the midst of arduous employments, and surrounded by all the allurements 
of society, yet find leisure for exerting the unwearied vigour of their minds 
in every mode of rendering permanent service to the human species ; more 
especially in spreading a love of knowledge, and diffusing useful truth 
among all classes of men. These voluntary occupations deserve our atten- 
tion still less as examples of prodigious power than as proofs of an intimate 
conviction, which binds them by unity of purpose with his public duties, that 
(to use the almost dying words of an excellent person) man can neither 
be happy without virtue, nor actively virtuous without liberty, nor securely 
free without rational knowledge." (Close of Sir W. Jones's last Dis- 
course to the Asiatic Society of Calcutta.) 



426 



and inseparably blended; and of that perfect state of 
solution (if such words may be allowed) the result is 
Conscience — the judge and arbiter of human conduct ; 
which, though it does not supersede ordinary motives 
of virtuous feelings and habits, which are the ordinary 
motives of good actions, yet exercises a lawful authority 
even over them, and ought to blend with them. What- 
soever actions and dispositions are approved by conscience 
acquire the name of virtues or duties : they are pro- 
nounced to deserve commendation; and we are justly 
considered as under a moral obligation to practise the 
actions and cultivate the dispositions. 

20. The coahtion of the private and public feelings is 
very remarkable in two points of view, from which it 
seems hitherto to have been scarcely observed. First, 
It illustrates very forcibly all that has been here offered 
to prove, that the peculiar character of the moral sen- 
timents consists in their exclusive reference to states of 
will, and that every feeling which has that quahty, when 
it is purified from all admixture with different objects, 
becomes capable of being absorbed into Conscience, and 
of being assimilated to it, so as to become a part of it. 
For no feehngs can be more unlike each other in their 
object than the private and the social ; and yet, as both 
employ voluntary actions as their sole immediate means, 
both may be transferred by association to states of the 
will, in which case they are transmuted into moral senti- 
ments. No example of the coalition of feelings in their 
general nature less widely asunder, could afford so much 
support to this position. Secondly ^ By raising quahties 
useful to ourselves to the rank of virtues, it throws a 
strong light on the relation of virtue to individual 
interest ; very much as justice illustrates the relation of 
morality to general interest. The coincidence of morality 
with individual interest is an important truth in Ethics. 
It is most manifest in that part of Ethics which we are 
now considering. A calm regard to our general interest 



is indeed a faint and infrequent motive of action. Its 
chief advantage is, that it is regular, and that its move- 
ments may be calculated. In deliberate conduct it may 
often be relied on, though perhaps never safely without 
knowledge of the whole temper and character. But in 
moral reasoning, at least, the coincidence is of unspeak- 
able advantage. If there be a miserable man who has 
cold affections, a weak sense of justice, dim perceptions 
of right and wrong, and faint feelings of them : — if, still 
more wretched, his heart be constantly torn and devoured 
by malevolent passions — the vultures of the soul; — we 
have one resource still left, even in cases so dreadful. 
Even he still retains a human principle, to which we can 
speak. He must own that he has some wish for his own 
lasting welfare. We can prove to him that his state of 
mind is inconsistent with it. It may be impossible indeed 
to shew, that while his disposition continues the same, he 
can derive any enjoyment from the practice of virtue. 
But it may be most clearly shewn, that every advance in 
the amendment of that disposition is a step towards even 
temporal happiness. If he do not amend his character, 
we may compel him to own that he is at variance with 
himself, and offends against a principle of which even he 
must recognise the reasonableness. 

21. The formation of Conscience from so many ele- 
ments, and especially the combination of elements so 
unlike as the private desires and the social affections, 
early contributes to give it the appearance of that sim- 
plicity and independence which in its mature state really 
distinguish it. It becomes, from these circumstances, 
more difficult to distinguish its separate principles ; and 
it is impossible to exhibit them in separate action. The 
affinity of these various passions to each other, which 
consists in their having no object but states of the will, 
is the only common property which strikes the mind. 
Hence the facility with which the general terms, first 
probably limited to the relations between ourselves and 



428 



others, are gradually extended to all voluntary acts and 
dispositions. Prudence and temperance become the ob- 
jects of moral approbation. When imprudence is imme- 
diately disapproved by the by-stander, without deliberate 
consideration of its consequences, it is not only dis- 
pleasing, as being pernicious, but it is blamed as wrongs 
though with a censure so much inferior to that bestowed 
on inhumanity and injustice, as may justify those writers 
who use the milder term improper. At length, when the 
general words come to signify the objects of moral appro- 
bation, and the reverse, they denote merely the power to 
excite feelings which are as independent as if they were 
underived, and which coalesce the more perfectly, because 
they are detached from objects so various and unlike, as 
to render their return to their primitive state very 
difficult. 

22. The question,* why we do not morally approve the 
useful qualities of actions which are altogether involun- 
tary, may now be shortly and satisfactorily answered : 
because conscience is in perpetual contact, as it were, 
with all the dispositions and actions of voluntary agents, 
and is by that means indissolubly associated with them 
exclusively. It has a direct action on the will, and a 
constant mental contiguity to it. It has no such mental 
contiguity to involuntary changes. It has never perhaps 
been observed, that an operation of the conscience pre- 
cedes all acts deliberate enough to be in the highest sense 
voluntary, and does so as much when it is defeated as 
when it prevails. In either case the association is 
repeated. It extends to the whole of the active man. 
All passions have a definite outward object to which they 
tend, and a limited sphere within which they act. But 
conscience has no object but a state of will ; and as an 
act of will is the sole means of gratifying any passion, 
conscience is co-extensive with the whole man, and with- 

* See supra, p. 85. 



429 



out encroachment curbs or aids every feeling, even within 
the peculiar province of that feeling itself. As will is the 
universal means, conscience, which regards will, must be 
a universal principle. As nothing is interposed between 
conscience and the will when the mind is in its healthy 
state, the dictate of conscience is followed by the deter- 
mination of the will, with a promptitude and exactness 
which very naturally is likened to the obedience of an 
inferior to the lawful commands of those whom he deems 
to be rightfully placed over him. It therefore seems 
clear, that on the theory which has been attempted, moral 
approbation must be limited to voluntary operations, and 
conscience must be universal, independent, and com- 
manding. 

23. One remaining difficulty may perhaps be objected to 
the general doctrines of this Dissertation, though it does 
not appear at any time to have been urged against other 
modifications of the same principle. " If moral appro- 
bation," it may be said, involve no perception of 
beneficial tendency, whence arises the coincidence be- 
tween that principle and the moral sentiments It may 
seem at first sight, that such a theory rests the foundation 
of morals upon a coincidence altogether mysterious, and 
apparently capricious and fantastic. Waiving all other 
answers, let us at once proceed to that which seems con- 
clusive. It is true that conscience rarely contemplates 
so distant an object as the welfare of all sentient beings. 
But to what point is every one of its elements directed ? 
What, for instance, is the aim of all the social aff'ections? 
Nothing but the production of larger or smaller masses of 
happiness among those of our fellow-creatures who are 
the objects of these affections. In every case these affec- 
tions promote happiness, as far as their foresight and their 
power extend. What can be more conducive, or even 
necessary, to the being and well-being of society, than 
the rules of justice ? Are not the angry passions them- 
selves, as far as they are ministers of morafity, employed 



430 



in removing hinderances to the welfare of ourselves and 
others, which is indirectly promoting it? The private 
passions terminate indeed in the happiness of the indivi- 
vidual, which, however, is a part of general happiness, 
and the part over which we have most power. Every 
principle of which conscience is composed has some por- 
tion of happiness for its object. To that point they all 
converge. General happiness is not indeed one of the 
natural objects of conscience, because our voluntary acts 
are not felt and perceived to affect it. But how small a 
step is left for reason. It only casts up the items of the 
account. It has only to discover that the acts of those 
who labour to promote separate portions of happiness 
must increase the amount of the whole. It may be truly 
said, that if observation and experience did not clearly 
ascertain that beneficial tendency is the constant attend- 
ant and mark of all virtuous dispositions and actions, the 
same great truth v/ould be revealed to us by the voice of 
conscience. The coincidence, instead of being arbitrary, 
arises necessarily from the laws of human nature, and the 
circumstances in which mankind are placed. We per- 
form and approve virtuous actions, partly because con- 
science regards them as right, partly because we are 
prompted to them by good affections. All these affections 
contribute towards general well-being, though it were not 
necessary, nor would it be fit, that the agent should be 
distracted by the contemplation of that vast and remote 
object. 

The various relations of conscience to religion we have 
already been led to consider on the principles of Butler, 
of Berkeley, of Paley, and especially of Hartley, who was 
led by his own piety to contemplate as the last and 
highest stage of virtue and happiness, a sort of self- 
annihilation, which, however unsuitable to the present 
condition of mankind, yet places in the strongest light 
the disinterested character of the system, of which it is a 
conceiveable though perhaps not attainable result. The 



431 



completeness and rigovir acquired by conscience, when all 
its dictates are revered as the commands of a perfectly 
wise and good Being, are so obvious, that they cannot be 
questioned by any reasonable man, however extensive his 
incredulity may be. It is thus that conscience can add 
the warmth of an affection to the inflexibility of principle 
and habit. It is true that, in examining the evidence of 
the divine original of a religious system, in estimating an 
imperfect religion, or in comparing the demerits of reli- 
gions of human origin, conscience must be the standard 
chiefly applied. But it follows with equal clearness, that 
those who have the happiness to find satisfaction and 
repose in divine revelation, are bound to consider all those 
precepts for the government of the will, delivered by it, 
which are manifestly universal, as the rules to which all 
their feelings and actions should conform. The true dis- 
tinction between conscience and a taste for moral beauty 
has already been pointed out ;* a distinction which, not- 
withstanding its simplicity, has been unobserved by 
philosophers, perhaps on account of the frequent co- 
operation and intermixture of the two feelings. Most 
speculators have either denied the existence of the taste, 
or kept it out of view in their theory, or exalted it to the 
place which is rightfully filled only by conscience. Yet 
it is perfectly obvious that, like all the other feelings called 
pleasures of imagination, it terminates in delightful con- 
templation, while the moral faculty always aims exclu- 
sively at voluntary action. Nothing can more clearly 
shew that this last quality is the characteristic of con- 
science, than its being thus found to distinguish that 
faculty from the sentiments which most nearly resemble 
it, most frequently attend it, and are most easily blended 
with it. — Mackintosh, Dissert. Encyclop. Britan. 
Sect. 7- 

* See supra, p. 117, 118. 



THE END. 



ERRATA. 

Page 19, line 4 from the bottom, £or pJiysical read po/ificaL 
' 26j line 8 from the bottom, for told read tells. 

33, last line, prefix I to the first word. 

85, line 6 from the top, for sakes read sake. 

108, line 12 from the top, for general read generous. 

109, in the note line, 2 from the bottom, for action read active. 

110, line 17 from the top, for -words read 'wo?-d. 

. 118, first line, for that read than. 

133, line 7 from the bottom, for interests read interest. 

166, first line, for tie read little. 

173, line 1 3, dele in at the end of the line. 

181, line 7 from the bottom, dele •will. 

199, line 2 from the bottom, for alluded to., read attended to, 

238, line 2 from the top, for ennemies read ennemis. 

344, line 8 from the top, for Sir Jameses read Sir James<^ 

355, line 14 from the top, for causes read cause. 



C, BALDWIN, PRINTER, NEW BRIDGE-STREET, LONDON. 



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